Future Parents Program
by Avari20
Summary: AU 7th year...There once was a boy named Draco with an extremely determined mother and a distrubing fascination for a certain bushy haired female. When a schemeing headmaster with an idea about babies is thrown into the mix, Draco's problems multiply a thousand fold. *currently editing for content, because I'm the author and I can do that*
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Life at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was never boring. If a first year wasn't busy blowing up some vital part of Serverus Snape's Potions classroom, someone was on the receiving end of a dire warning (usually involving a rather gruesome and often humiliating death) in Professor Trelawney's Divination. Then there was the steady stream of patients in and out of Madame Pomphrey's infirmary, sporting anything from black eyes to hexes that made one's nose whistle like a train every time the poor sod opened his mouth.

Draco Malfoy's lips twitched. Ah, memories.

"Daddy." Someone tugged at his pant leg. He looked down at the little girl that stood no higher than his knee. "Where's Mummy?" she asked seriously, brushing a blonde curl out of her silver eyes. She looked like a doll, her little green dress and black Mary Jane's adding to the almost startling perfection of her features. The medi witches had gushed like volcanoes over her when she'd been born. _"She looks so much like her father!"_

Draco had smiled smugly. _"Pretty damn cute, huh?"_ And his already impressive ego was further bolstered when his daughter turned out to be a certified genius. There was nothing accidental about the overlarge scroll displayed in his mansion's foyer, his daughter's name in bold letters.

"Mummy's coming soon, Ick. She got caught up." He picked her up and pointed at the Quidditch pitch below their window. "See that? Daddy started playing on that very same field."

Vivica May Malfoy's little eyes lit up. "Can I play there before we leave?"

"In your new dress? Your mother would kill me." Draco was frankly horrified at the thought of his wife's retribution.

Vivica wrinkled her nose at him. "Don't be silly, Daddy. All you would have to do is Transfigure my dress into a proper uniform and no one would be the wiser."

How very devious. Definitely a Malfoy. "I don't know…." Not that he wasn't up to a bit of mischief. Hell, he was a Malfoy too. "Your mother's pretty scary." He was man enough to admit it. It wasn't like he was going to be the butt of his friends' jokes about it. They knew his wife, too.

Vivica, or Ick as he called her, placed her little pixie hands on each of her father's cheeks and patted them. "What was the point of getting me a real riding broom instead of a toy if I can't practice on it?" she asked logically.

"Are you sure you're only three?" Draco chuckled. Perhaps it was time to get the scrolled enlarged again. "Alright, but just know that I'm blaming it all on you if we get caught."

His baby shrugged. "It's only fair, as I was going to do the same thing."

Suddenly Draco's wand vibrated in his pocket. "Bugger!" he swore, pulling it out. "We're late!" He hoisted his daughter up so that she rode his shoulders. He pushed the frills out of his face. "Hang on, baby, I'm going to have to run." He glanced up at her quickly, "And don't tell your mother I said 'bugger' in front of you."

She patted him on the head in reassurance. "It'll cost you a cookie."

Definitely a Malfoy.

* * *

The sorting ceremony was already complete when Draco burst through the doors of the Great Hall in a dramatic entrance reminiscent of his school days.

The only difference being that he now had a little miniature of himself attached to his shoulders, of course.

He strode to the front of the hall to Dumbledore, looking for all the world as though he didn't see the hundreds of eyes watching his unorthodox interruption. As it was, Dumbledore had been in the middle of introducing him. "Ah, Mr. Malfoy. Impeccable timing."

He was lucky like that. Draco took his place next to his former Headmaster. His name rang out through the hall and students began to whisper in earnest, staring at him in unconcealed awe. As well they should. He removed Ick from his shoulders and placed her between himself and the Headmaster. The two stared at one another, curious.

"Hello, Miss Malfoy," the Headmaster said with a smile.

Vivica cocked her head at him. "You don't look like a dragon," she observed matter of factly.

Draco mentally slapped himself. He should have added a few other things to the list of what not to say in front of his daughter.

The Headmaster merely laughed. "I imagine I don't. Students," he continued, facing his audience with little Vivica's hand in his own. "I would like to introduce Vivica May Malfoy."

Ick waved gaily. Draco stood beside them, tall and straight, proud of his little girl.

"Miss Malfoy is here today to celebrate the fifth anniversary of our Future Parents Program. Her parents were some of the first students chosen to participate and refine the course to its current form. Her's is a rather interesting, if unexpected, part of the story….."


	2. Realization

Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my DVD player, and the plot. The characters are JKRs. The rest belongs to my parents.

_**Chapter One: Realization**_

When they said war was hell, they weren't bloody well joking.

All it had taken was one Death Eater meeting to convince Draco Black Malfoy of the truth of that little gem.

He'd stood there in black robes and the mask that identified the brethren for who they were. His fourteen year old body shook in barely suppressed excitement for being honored with this chance. He hadn't even recieved the dark mark yet. He'd been so eager, so confident, so _bloody stupid_.

Malfoy couldn't really have described what he'd pictured death to look like. All those times he'd wished Gryffindor Granger dead, he had supposed somewhere in the back of his mind that she simply would have disappeared from his life. Something like going away for an extended holiday, only her body remained behind until there was nothing left. Malfoy had never gotten around to imagining _how_ death was caused.

He was in for a crash course.

A Muggle couple had been killed that night. They weren't very much older than Malfoy himself. He remembered being frozen behind the mask as he watched what amounted to a gang man and the woman were quickly hoarse from screaming. It was so surreal and yet so disgustingly factual Malfoy couldn't cope with his feelings. He'd wanted to run away. He'd wanted to scream at the Death Eaters, including the man who'd fathered him, to stop. His lips had moved silently but no words could pass the frozen muscles of his throat. His mind had screamed at him to do something, anything!

But what? He was the son of a Death Eater. He wasn't supposed to want to do anything, say anything, be so horrified.

Only he was.

The Muggle couple was killed rather quickly-Voldemort's followers were abruptly warned of a pending strike against them by a group of Aurors. They dispersed with great speed, leaving the bodies twisted and broken in death, and Malfoy found himself back at the manor and wrestling with nightmares.

He was so confused. His upbringing warred with his newly discovered revulsion at what the family teachings allowed. It got to the point where he couldn't sleep or really eat. Something had to be done.

So he did what any self respecting Slytherin would do- he assessed his opponent.

By the time he was through, a whole new world had opened up to Malfoy. The whole Death Eater system was flawed. Why in the hell was he supposed to kill Mud- MUGGLE BORN wizards if Voldemort himself was such a wizard? If they were truly inferior, then their exalted leader should be destroyed.

Bloody hell. Now he was going to have to erase his preconceived notions and start from scratch. Damn.

Finding all of this out still didn't help Malfoy concieve of a solution to the predicament presented to him. He had to talk to someone, bounce some ideas off of him. Someone older, with experience. Someone who could keep a secret. Someone with enough intelligence to come up with a plausible resolution that didn't involve Draco Malfoy getting himself killed. Someone who-

Aw, bugger.

* * *

It was an understatement to say that Malfoy was unhappy about turning to Dumbledore for help, but he did it anyway. He was prideful, not moronic. He knew that the Headmaster was the only one who fit the bill.

So Draco became a double agent, feeding his father false information and keeping Dumbledore on the ball. The old man kept him abreast of the people saved in the attacks, as if he knew that Malfoy secretly needed to hear that he was helping someone, that he needed to know that he hadn't let anyone else die like the Muggle couple. Logically he knew it wasn't his fault, but he used it for motivation nonetheless.

To make a long story short, Voldemort was defeated sometime between Malfoy's sixth and seventh year. By then the Golden Trio had learned of Malfoy's involvement with the so-called good side. Not that it mattered. Weasel was a pure born to begin with-Malfoy hated him because of his incessant stupidity, poverty, and damned redheaded Weasley disregard for social grace. He was the first one to make a scene. He didn't even have the refinement to insult someone subtly, for Merlin's sake. Didn't he understand the concept-

_AHEM_. Anyway.

Potter had softened a bit in his hatred of Malfoy, but old rivalries died hard. They each wanted to be better than the other, faster, stronger. Malfoy had the intelligence and good looks awards hands down, but blast it if that little git didn't trounce him continuously on the Quidditch field. The ponce was at the second to the top slot of Malfoy's _People I Am Going to Beat If It's the Last Thing I Ever Do _list.

But as insufferable as Potter was, he didn't rate Enemy Number One in Malfoy's eyes. Oh no, that dubious honor went to someone else. Someone who didn't know when to sit back and shut up. Someone who's marks practically squeaked next to his, they were so close. Someone who had apparently never seen a hairbrush before the Yule Ball and from the looks of it had managed to lose it again immediately following.

Someone who just damn well wouldn't get out of his sight and stay that way so he wouldn't have to spend all his time planning his next heckle just to annoy her.

_GRANGER_.

Malfoy could never contain the growl that emitted every time he thought about her. He couldn't keep his composure, period, when it came to her. No matter how hard he tried, Draco couldn't just walk away from her and ignore her. Instead of the icy calm he should have been effecting, he reverted to some kind of school yard bully with a crush on the class beauty. Rude, childish, and unbelievably obvious.

The problem was that the comparison hit a little too close to home for Draco.

Not that he had a blinkin' crush on the girl. It was just that he was pretty sure that other people thought that he did. Hell, maybe even the gods did, because they certainly threw the Gryffindor Princess in his path often enough. She was everywhere he looked. In the Great Hall, in class, at the Quidditch pitch watching the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Piss-the-Everloving-Hell-Out-Of-Malfoy and the Waste-of-Talent-Weasley practice.

It got to the point where Malfoy spent the summer before seventh year praying that he wouldn't get the position of Head Boy. Odd? Hell no. Self-preservation. He was dreaming about her now. He noticed the most inappropriate things about her as-Ack!

Anyway, he knew that if he got Head Boy, he would have to share a common room with the Girl-Who-Wouldn't-Leave-Him-Alone and frankly he wasn't sure if he would survive.

And what happened? Dumbledore did it to him again. He was named Head Boy.

The man lived to make Malfoy miserable. He just knew it.

He was positive Dumbledore was counting on the Malfoy pride to prevent Draco from turning the position down, and he was right. Draco glared at the letter in his hand. Wasn't he supposed to be getting _rewarded _for helping in the fall of Voldemort? This smelled like punishment to him, and he ought to know. He had Lucius for a father.

He looked up at his mother. Since his father's imprisonment, Narcissa had opened up to him. She laughed, she cried, she triedto make up for all the years that her husband had taken away from her. Malfoy wasn't entirely against this. It was nice having someone who cared. He'd gone so far as to test the waters by bringing her a rose for no special reason. She'd favored him with one of the few hugs he'd ever received in his life.

It had been awkward and strangely wonderful at the same time.

"Something wrong, dear?" she asked him, sipping her pumpkin juice.

He carefully placed the letter on the table next to his plate, smoothing it out with precise motions. "I've been named Head Boy."

"Really?" she asked excitedly. She literally clapped her hands in delight. Malfoy refrained from commenting on that. "How wonderful!" she sat back. "I can't believe it. My baby is in his seventh year, Head Boy, and Quidditch captain." She sniffed.

Oh, gods, was that a _tear_? Malfoy thought with horror.

His mother sniffed again. "My little boy is growing up."

Oh, no, oh no oh no oh no. Her eyes were shiny. Malfoy gulped. "Mother, don't cry please," he begged as much for his sake as hers. He was rubbish with teary women. He reached out and awkwardly patted her hand. "It's fine. It's perfect. It's wonderful," he croaked. He was running out of soothing adjectives.

She waved a hand to fan her eyes. "I will not cry, I will not cry."

Then she promptly let the flood gates down.

Malfoy would never understand how women could shed so much water and still survive, but she somehow pulled it off. The next thing he knew he stood next to her chair, arms wrapped around her as she sobbed and eyes raised to implore the gods for some kind of divine intervention. Inspiration, the right words, a _drought_, for the love of Salazar!

When she finally calmed, Malfoy nearly dropped in relief. Until she suddenly pushed him away and looked up at him with unholy determination and stated in a clear voice, "I want grandchildren."

Malfoy was ashamed to say he did drop then. He would later say that he'd tripped, but the truth was that the shock was too much for his knees and he landed in an undignified heap on the dining room floor. "You want _WHAT_!" he bellowed up at her.

Madame Malfoy had no sympathy for his poor bum. "I want grandchildren and I want them soon."

"Aren't you being a little irrational?" _That _was an understatement. He was still young. Viral. Wild. Sowing his oats and all that.

His mother wiped her tears away with the back of her hand and proceeded to deliver the most convoluted explanation known to man. "I didn't have the time with you that I should have. It's almost too late to show you that I can be a good mother to you, to show you how wonderful a real family can be. If you get married, I'll get a daughter, you'll get a wife who will hopefully give you all the love you deserve, and then we'll all get children to love and cherish and play with and-"

Malfoy scrambled to his feet. "Mother, what did the house elves put in your drink?"

"I am _not _drunk, Draco Black Malfoy!" she told him with enough Malfoy disdain to freeze a lake. "I am perfectly rational. Besides, you are now the head of the Malfoy family. It's time to ensure the future."

Malfoy had the uncomfortable feeling that he was going to faint.


	3. Battle Plan

Disclaimer- Characters are Rowling's. The plot is mine.

_**Battle Plan**_

Draco Black Malfoy was not a coward.

He was a Slytherin, a strategist, if you will. Strategy relied on logic. Logic told him that his mother had lost her jelly beans and that a full on retreat was the best course of action.

He spent the next two weeks avoiding his mother like the plague. It wasn't that hard considering the size of the manor, but there had still been a close call or two that required he jump into a nearby closet or dive under one of the guest beds. He felt a twinge of disgust for his behavior for only a nanosecond, tops.

After all, his mother was a former Slytherin herself. Just because her son wasn't around to listen didn't mean that she couldn't find alternative avenues of getting her point across.

It started out innocently enough. A random baby bottle here, a pacifier there. The longer Draco held out, however, the bigger and more elaborate his mother's "hints" became. He told himself he could handle the pram permanently affixed to the floor in front of his bed. The new wallpaper in his bathroom depicting disgustingly cheerful baby ducks could be avoided, all he had to was close his eyes. The baby clothes intermingling with his boxers was a bit annoying, but he held his tongue. He nearly fell down the stairs when he stepped on one of the hundreds of bouncy balls littering the carpet (how did his mother even _know _he was going to use _this _of all the staircases in the house?), but what was a sprained ankle in the face of continued bachelorhood?

The straw that broke the proverbial camels back, however, was when he woke up from yet another disturbing dream involving a particular female Gryffindor. It had been a rather platonic dream, thank the heavens. Some random moments where he watched her read a book or laugh or whatever else she bloody well did with her day is all. Draco dreaded the day when he would dream about her gulp naked. He was busy thanking his lucky stars that even he didn't have enough imagination to picture what _she _looked like under those baggy witch's robes when he opened his eyes for the first time that morning.

There, painted in horrifying detail on his ceiling, was a baby. Not just any baby. Oh no. It was big, it was laughing, it had a picture of Draco's head as a baby affixed over an anonymous baby body. Maybe his mother decided that without a potential mother in sight she couldn't really rely on guesswork to picture the baby.

Underneath the giant, bouncy, cubby cheeked Draco-of-the-ceiling were the words "Make Me, Draco" flashing in what amounted to neon lights.

Everyone who is remotely familiar with science understands this one principle-for every action, there is a reaction. So one can begin to understand the nature of _Draco's _reaction. Drastic barely described it.

He went back to school EARLY.

_What was the world coming to?_

* * *

Draco was so eager to escape-_ahem, tactically retreat_-that he wasn't too specific about where in Hogwarts he wanted to go when he used the floo powder. If he'd been thinking rationally, it would haveoccurred to him thatthere was really only one place the network wouldallow one to enter. He landed with a violent thump and a cloud of dust heralding his arrival….

Right in the middle of the Headmaster's office.

Malfoy bit back a groan. _Why?_

Dumbledore stopped his writing to quirk an amused brow at his escapist-_strategist_-student. "Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco sat up and dusted himself off. "Afternoon, Headmaster." He was striving to sound like he hadn't made one of his more undignified entrances.

"I trust you had a pleasant summer?"

"Hmph," Draco muttered as he stood up.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"My mother's gone barkin' mad!" Draco burst out. Damn, he hadn't meant to say that. He opened his mouth to save the situation when he found himself pouring out the rest of the story as though his mind had sprung a leak. "If she's not crying, she's following me around begging me to have babies!"

The Headmaster nodded sagely as he indicated that Malfoy should sit. "A difficult task for a man, even a wizard."

"What?" Malfoy asked, bewildered. Then, "No, not me personally. She wants me to find a wife so that she can have grandchildren. Something about the wonder of family or some such."

"And this is unacceptable?" He held out a bowl.

Malfoy took the offered sweets from Dumbledore without stopping his tirade. "Even if I had someone in mind, which I don't, I'm too young. I'm too handsome. I'm too wrapped up in being selfish. I have no idea how to deal with a steady girlfriend, much less a wife. And _babies_? Don't get me started!"

Dumbledore was looking at him with a serious expression. That was never good, as far as Malfoy could tell. "Mr. Malfoy, would you say that you are alone in your predicament as far as your age group goes?"

"Um…pardon?"

"Do you think you are the only one who knows nothing about babies at your age?"

Was this a trick question? "Of course not," Malfoy replied with disdain. "I doubt even your precious Gryffindors know the first thing about babies."

Dumbledore didn't say anything. This was worse than his serious demeanor, Malfoy thought. He could practically see the wheels turning in the older man's head. After a moment he nodded to himself. Malfoy watched the headmaster with the intensity of one watching a rabid animal. One didn't know what the next move was going to be but one had the distinct feeling it didn't mean anything good for oneself.

"Mr. Malfoy, you have given me an idea."

Dare he ask?

He didn't get the chance. "Am I to assume that you wish to remain here until school begins?" Dumbledore asked smoothly.

Malfoy could do nothing but nod. He wasn't going to beg. "I left Mother a note."

"I'm sure your luggage will arrive quite soon. In the meantime, why don't you inform Professor Snape of your arrival and get a bit to eat?"

Malfoy walked out of the office with a sense of impending doom.


	4. Heaven and Hell

**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my DVD player, and the plot. The characters are JKRs. The rest belongs to my parents. **

**A/N--/N--Draco is getting hit from all sides. I almost feel sorry for the little bugger. And by the by, if you're re-reading this and notice that Luna has taken the place of Cho, please note that the credit for that idea goes to Ada, who emailed me with that brilliant idea. I could have so much more fun with Luna! Thanks Ada! **

_**Chapter Three: Heaven and Hell**_

Narcissa Malfoy was in a bit of a huff. Her son was a wily one, she'd give him that. The woman flopped back on her son's bed in a very un-Malfoy-like heap and contemplated her handiwork currently giggling on the ceiling. She looked at the note in her hand for the twentieth time.

**_Dear Mother,_**

**_I decided to return to Hogwarts early so that I can get a head start on all of the work I'll have to do for the Old Dragon this year. Please have the house elves deliver my luggage by the end of the day._**

**_Sincerely,_**

**_Cordially,_**

**_Love Always, _**

**_Whatever!_**

**_D_**

As miffed as she was at having her plans thwarted, Narcissa was still thrilled by the "Love Always". There had been a time when Draco wouldn't have dreamed about expressing any sort of tender emotion toward his mother. Her son was still struggling with the changes in his life, but at least he was trying. Her bastard husband hadn't destroyed everything. Not to say that Draco was entirely reformed. She smirked at the post script.

**_And for the love of the Gods, woman, don't include nappies with my boxers!_**

Narcissa had realized back at the random baby bottle stage of her campaign that Draco was not going to simply lie down and admit defeat. She had increased her efforts in proportion with his resistance. So far the only results she'd garnered from her erstwhile child was a sprained ankle and a new appreciation for closeted janitorial supplies. Narcissa tapped a perfectly manicured finger against her chin. Now he'd gone so far as to remove himself from the battle entirely.

Oh, but the boy had seriously underestimated the depth of Narcissa's devotion to her new cause.

It occurred to her that she was being a wee bit selfish. Then again, who cared? It wasn't like she would be the ONLY one benefiting from the formation of a new family. Draco needed to know that not all fathers were like his own. She hated herself for bringing her child into a….gods, _situation _just didn't describe it justly….like that. Narcissa would forever regret her weakness, because in the end it had hurt the one she loved the most.

She had to be strong now. She had to delve deep inside to reconnect with the steel willed young woman she had once been and use every bit of tenacity, cunning, and manipulative tendencies she possessed to achieve her goal.

A family for Draco. A family for Narcissa.

A chance to do things right.

Except the little twerp she called her son wasn't cooperating. How was she supposed to wage her war, er, _campaign_, if the snot was away at school….

Wait a minute. School.

Slowly, a smile that could only be described as deliciously evil spread across the still-beautiful woman's face. _Oh, but this was too good, _she thought to herself. This was bringing devious to new heights, even for her.

It was brilliant!

_

* * *

That night…. _

Somewhere in Hogwarts Headmaster Dumbledore held a secret meeting with the school's professors. Ok, so it wasn't that secret, but an old man had to get his fun where he could. He was actually having quite a bit of fun at the moment. He rather enjoyed the stunned expressions some of the most unflappable people in the wizarding world were casting in his direction.

Snape was the first to break the silence. "Headmaster, forgive me, but are you serious?"

Dumbledore put the tips of his aged fingers together and formed a pyramid, smiling serenely at the head of Slytherin house. That was all the answer anyone needed. The Potions master narrowed his eyes at him. "What house were you assigned to when you were a student?" he asked suspiciously.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Really, Severus. It's not as devious as all that."

Minerva finally snapped out of her stunned state. "Yes, it is. Where do you come up with these things, Albus?" She watched as Dumbledore fed a tidbit to Fawkes, petting the phoenix with unconcealed affection. "Our young Mr. Malfoy is actually the source of this particular endeavor, my dear Minerva," he replied easily.

Snape's eyebrows shot up. "_Malfoy_? _THE _Draco Malfoy?"

"Oh, yes. Mr. Malfoy showed up in my office quite unexpectedly this afternoon. He was rather distraught regarding his lack of an heir." So he left out a few details, Dumbledore thought. What was truth but a convenient arrangement of facts, anyway?

The Transfiguration professor was still a little uneasy. "An experiment of this magnitude will require an unheard of amount of cooperation between professors and students alike."

"I have every faith in the abilities of the staff and the students, Minerva. We have two weeks to coordinate the details." Dumbledore actually smirked. "I must say, I'm looking forward to it."

After the meeting was adjourned and Dumbledore was once again alone in his office, he casually walked over to the fireplace (it had been extraordinarily busy that day) and proceeded to cast the needed charm to contact his accomplice.

Narcissa must have been glued to the grate because her face appeared seconds later in the flames. "Well?" she asked excitedly. "How did it go?"

Dumbledore smiled at his former student. "Quite well, I would say. With the information you have provided concerning the Muggle methods employed in public schools, there shouldn't be any problem implementing the experiment itself. It's the underhanded aspects that will require the most attention in the next fortnight."

Narcissa could not contain the evil chuckle that spilled out. "I can't wait to see the look on Draco's face when he hears about this. I'll provide all the necessary help as far as the _extra measures _are concerned. I was a bit of a prankster in my day."

"I remember," Dumbledore said wryly.

"Draco isn't going to know what hit him." Narcissa crossed her legs in a childlike fashion and propped her chin on her fist. "Now tell me more about this Hermione Granger."

_

* * *

Two weeks later on the Hogwarts Express….. _

Hermione sat in the Head compartment of the train and reflected.

The speeches concerning her duties and that of the Head Boy, who was no where to be found, were already done, leaving her alone for the rest of the journey. Ron and Harry were off frolicking somewhere on the train, and as much as she loved those two, she was feeling a bit….disoriented….and wanted to sort her feelings out by herself.

Actually, if she was honest, she knew that 'frolicking' was a bit much. The three of them had been changed by the war that wasn't officially a war in the Ministry's eyes. Hermione snorted. "Conflict" indeed. Conflicts were little fights between second graders. Conflicts didn't give you nightmares. Conflicts didn't make you watch people die. Conflicts didn't wield a whip and leave you scarred for life.

The fall of Voldemort had been met by the majority of the wizarding world with joy. Hermione wished she had been capable of sharing in it, but she just…couldn't. A void sat where happiness should have been. Hermione felt like she would never be happy again. Instead she was angry because of what she had to endure.

She was sad because she couldn't look at the world the same way she had when she first met her two best friends.

She was frightened because it didn't look like those feelings would ever change.

Hermione shifted position so that her back didn't fully touch the back of the seat, ignoring the lingering pain. What did one do when one's innocence was stripped away? The rose tinted glasses were gone, leaving the world in shades of gray that threatened to drown Hermione if she thought about it too long. She knew she wasn't the only one who felt like that, but the others were reacting to it differently. Harry and Ron had a new maturity about them now. Harry seemed a bit more relaxed without the threat of Voldemort hanging over his head. He seemed to use the gray to highlight what was pure and good and brilliantly colorful. He took every moment he could to appreciate the wonderful things in life, and understand how fleeting some beauty could be.

Ron…he wasn't so afraid anymore. He went after what he wanted now. He showed others how he felt or said what he thought instead of ducking his head and defending himself with a shamed face. He still laughed, but now it was at himself and not at others.

Hermione leaned her head against the cool glass of the window. She was intelligent enough to recognize the signs of depression in herself. She just didn't know what to do about it than go about life as though nothing had changed. She simply had to ignore the nagging voice in her heart that told her nothing would ever be the same again.

* * *

The tension in the room was palpable. Every eye was focused on Draco, waiting for his next move. Everything, and he did mean everything, was riding on his decision. Sweat beaded on his temple. He had to choose wisely, or all was lost. He had only one chance to get it right. _Keep cool, Malfoy. Don't let the pressure get to you._ He had to consciously restrain himself from tapping his fingers in a blatant show of uncertainty. 

He took a deep breath. It was now or never.

"Hit me."

Hagrid flipped the next card over. "Malfoy busts with twenty-two."

Malfoy stared in open mouthed astonishment as Dumbledore raked his amazing pile of Muggle candy that they had been using for markers into his already impressive collection. "Better luck next time, Malfoy," he commiserated.

"Stupid nines," Malfoy muttered. He added Black Jack to his list of _Games that Needed to Be Mastered in Order to Salvage Pride_. He smirked. He could always use it to fleece a few first years out of their sweets. It bore thinking over. Pity about this game though. He'd become really fond of those Jolly Ranchers, although why anyone would name a candy after happy men who herded cattle was beyond him.

Speaking of jolly….Draco eyed the group of professors suspiciously. They'd been a little too happy lately. They kept casting him these odd looks that had him on guard for booby traps. There hadn't been any other than Hagrid's occasional escapees finding their way into his very expensive wardrobe. Malfoy was still uneasy though. He was a true Slytherin, and his instincts were telling him that something not entirely pleasant was going to happen.

Then again, he could simply be displacing his anxieties over Granger's inevitable arrival.

He'd learned that little tidbit of information over the two weeks he'd been by himself at school. Bored out of his mind, he'd gone in search of entertainment. According to the _Super-Condensed Psychological Theories and You_ book he'd picked up on a whim in the school library, Draco focused on Granger in order to draw attention from his own sense of failure. He was angry at her because he was angry with himself or some such thing. Basically, she was his scapegoat.

Although she didn't look anything like a goat to him. A swan maybe. A nymph, or perhaps a--

_Blast it to Hell and back! _

The book had had some things to say about those random bits of insanity as well. According to it, Draco was secretly attracted to Granger and had repressed it for so long that it had built up to the point where it sort of leaked out and manifested itself as dreams and such.

It was about then that Draco had decided the damn book was rubbish and chucked the thing. Repressed attraction, his bum.

The churning feeling that bubbled in his chest as he returned to his room to change into his robes for the opening ceremony was just indigestion. He conveniently ignored that fact that he hadn't eaten anything since before noon and that the feeling was only now grabbing hold of him. He blamed his pounding heart as he walked toward the Great Hall on a lack of exercise, never mind that his body was a fit as could be thanks to Quidditch.

He caught himself primping in front of a random mirror. Hair carefully tousled, check. Clean face, check. Straight tie, check. He turned to the side. His robes showed off the physique he had earlier ignored to the fullest effect. His shirt was just tight enough to emphasis his broad shoulders without being to obvious. He arranged it so that it lay straighter on his defined abdomen. His slacks, though hidden by the robes except for certain moments, showed off his tight bum, if he did say so himself.

_Pull yourself together, you ponce!_

Scowling, he silently told his reflection that he was making sure he looked his best in order to impress the Slytherin girls. Even his reflection didn't want to believe him.

He took a deep breath. Show time.

* * *

He entered the Great Hall with all the dramatic flair he had in him. He was uber aware of all the appreciative looks he was receiving even as he outwardly ignored them on the way to his self-proclaimed throne as the Prince of Slytherin. He surveyed his surroundings with icy superiority, briefly nodding to Pansy and the others even as his eyes strayed to the Gryffindor table. 

His eyes narrowed. There they were, the Golden Trio, up close and personal. Weasel and Potter were reacquainting themselves with the other boys. Potter briefly caught his eye and gave the minutest of nods in acknowledgment. Malfoy returned the gesture with one of his own. Hell, he could be civilized when he wanted to.

Then his attention caught on _her_. He frowned. What the hell was wrong with the girl? She looked normal, but….was it him, or did she seem a bit……

Diminished?

Draco knew that girl as well as her two buffoons did. Know thy enemy and all that. Regardless of the circumstances, he knew that Hermione Granger was in possession of one of the most tangible auras in school. She glowed with it, damn her. It was a part of her, as if her body wasn't big enough to keep all of energy inside.

It wasn't there anymore. Or at least not like it had been. A pale shadow of itself.

Malfoy would have killed to know why. Know thy enemy and all that.

He found himself sneaking more looks at her than normal all through the sorting ceremony. She had grown into her looks. Her uncontrollable hair had received a proper cut and style, framing her face attractively. She had gone from scrawny to well-proportioned in all the right spots. Her legs--

Well, he was going to stop that thought right in its tracks.

Suddenly Malfoy became aware of what the Headmaster was saying. He'd passed by the usual Dying a Horrible Death speech and had come to a new topic. "This year Hogwarts has made some changes to the normal curriculum. It has come to our attention that many of our students are not as well rounded as we would like them to be. In addition to preparing you for the professional aspect of your futures, we have decided to attempt include the personal aspect of life as well."

This was it, Malfoy thought dazedly. This was what the Old Fool had been so happy about. He stared in morbid fascination as the Dragon continued, wise eyes pining him where he sat. "Due to concerns expressed by certain individuals, Hogwarts has investigated Muggle methods of teaching and have discovered startling differences. Upon review, it was decided that we have severely neglected considering the diverse backgrounds of our students in relation to education. Therefore, we hereby introduce to you the Future Parents Program."

Draco couldn't get his scattered thoughts to shape up and get back in order.

"Several students of each house and gender will be selected to participate in and report on the progress of this experimental course. The purpose is to teach the students about what everyday life will be like after school. We chose only one aspect as a focus, in this case….children…..to give the evaluation more definition.

"In short," Dumbledore said. "Someone's about to become a parent."

Three guesses who. Dumbledore had just succeeded in supplanting Granger on Malfoy's _People I Am Going to Beat If It's the Last Thing I Ever Do _list. Except "beat" took on a whole new meaning in this instance.

Wait. Couple. That meant--

"Would the following students please come forward?" Minerva, the Traitorous Transfiguration professor as she would forever after be known to Malfoy, said briskly while she flipped open a roll of parchment. "Ronald Weasley."

The redhead stood. The professor didn't wait for him before calling out the rest of the boys names. "Neville Longbottom. Alfred Blankenship."

"Draco Malfoy."

All eyes snapped to Malfoy. He barely suppressed a growl, settling on the fiercest scowl he could conjure up as he stood. Anger reverberated in every step as he stalked to the podium. "The following girls will be paired with the boys in the order they have been called. Pansy Parkinson."

The poor girl couldn't hide her shock. WEASLEY? She mouthed even as she was pushed up and prodded toward the podium. "Millicent Bulstrode."

Neville visibly blanched.

"Luna Lovegood." Blakenship looked positively putrid. All that left was Malfoy. He closed his eyes, a war raging inside of him even as he waited for the next name to be called. The girl that would be paired with him. Oh, gods. He'd thought sharing a common room would be hell. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want her to be that close all of the time.

He didn't want it to be anybody else but her.

"Hermione Granger."

_Oh, gods._


	5. Breathe!

**Disclaimer: These characters belong to JKR, the lucky girl.**

_A/N--Hermione's not all sweetness and light anymore. Well, come to think of it, she never was, but you get the point. The war's done a number on her, the specific events that will be revealed later have made her a darker personality. Blatant attempt by myself to set her up with Draco? You betcha._

_**Chapter Four: Breathe!**_

Malfoy was on the warpath.

He stomped through the empty halls, his anger almost a visible entity. He was going to find that little wretch and shake her until the spell on her teeth wore off. How dare she, Malfoy fumed. How dare that little Muggle born upstart humiliate him like this? Draco Black Malfoy never forgot a wrong done to him, and this was as wrong as it got. The moment would be forever burned into his mind.

He'd been standing by the podium. His senses had been reeling from the emotional trauma. Visions of little buck-toothed hairball children had been warring with plans to get him out of this, many involving some sort of broken limb (not always his own) while he waited along with everyone else to see what reaction Hermione would have.

SHE LEFT.

She left! Left! Left him at the alter! Ok, the podium, but that wasn't the point! The bloody damn point was that she had slowly stood up from her seat, looked right at him, and told Dumbledore in no uncertain terms that though she appreciated the offer, she would have to decline! Then she'd strolled out of the Great Hall without so much as a by-your-leave.

Malfoy growled furiously at the thought.

He'd been dumbstruck. Couldn't have moved his feet if someone had decided to revive the witch hunts of old and told him he had a ten second head start. The buzzing in his ears deafened him to the gasps of the student body. Even the Treasonous Treacherous Transfiguration professor's jaw had dropped. Potter looked like he was taking it worse than Malfoy was. The other boy had been on the verge of fainting from the shock at his friend's audacity. He hadn't even had the guts to follow her.

Malfoy had followed, but you could be damn sure that guts had nothing to do with it.

A solid three minutes had passed before the astonishment had given way to white hot fury. The professors had been so unsettled by the interruption that they had failed to really try to explain the program, opting instead to get the feast started. He'd bypassed the table entirely and now there he was determined to search every square inch of Hogwarts until he found her and let her know just how much she should "appreciate the offer".

Starting with the library.

* * *

Well, wasn't _this _just a wonderful start to the school year? 

Hermione watched the lightning slice the air like a hot angry knife, the storm mimicking the emotions that boiled beneath the cold surface. She stood on the balcony railing of her new room. The ledge was no more than exact length of her feet, giving her just enough to balance on.

Or jump off of.

Hermione's lashes lowered. She contemplated the hundreds of feet of air between her and the lake below her tower. The smooth black surface of the Black Lake shone brightly with each bolt in the sky. So dark and consuming, she mused.

Her attention flickered to the presence behind her.

Dumbledore stood at the French doors. "Tempting fate, Ms. Granger?"

"What do you want?" she asked in a colorless voice. She was so tired. Too tired. Too wrapped up in the gray, and too close to Dumbledore now to hide any of that from him. Formality no longer had a real place between them anymore. Dumbledore had become a father figure to her. He knew her as well as any parent would know their child.

The old wizard glided forward a few steps. "In all my academic career, I believe tonight was the first occasion at which a student walked out of the Great Hall in the middle of the opening ceremony."

Hermione gave no visible reaction but continued to stare into the eye of the storm. There had been a time when she would never in her wildest dreams imagined anyone openly defying the unspoken laws of the opening ceremony. But she had done it. "Did you expect me to sit there demurely and accept this?"

"Does the thought of young Mr. Malfoy offend you so much?" the old man asked in an attempt at humor.

"Don't," she said quietly. "Just don't."

There were only three people in the world who truly understood the extent of Hermione's ordeal during the war. Other than herself, Dumbledore was the only person left alive who could claim that truth. And he had betrayed her.

The unspoken accusation hung heavy in the air between them. She didn't see the pain in the Headmaster's eyes but heard his heavy intake of breath. "Hermione," he said kindly. He had long given up addressing her by her last name in private. "I am not doing this to hurt you. I have a genuine interest in beginning a program that will teach our students about the real world. It will take the brightest of my bunch to refine the idea into an acceptable form."

Hermione turned to the side and began to walk the ledge. He moved with her. "Are you suggesting that Pansy Parkinson is one of your brighter students?"

The former teacher chuckled. "Miss Parkinson has her specialties, as does Neville and the rest of the chosen."

Abruptly Hermione spun dangerously on her heel and crouched down so that she and the Headmaster were eye level. "What are you playing at, Professor?" she asked. The air crackled with an intensity that rivaled the worst storm. Dumbledore could feel the energy radiating from the young woman in powerful waves, completely at odds with the blank mask that never really left her anymore.

Albus Dumbledore was a very old man. He had been present at many of the countless events that had shaped the world into what it was today. He had taught hundreds of students, watched them as they grew from the scared eleven year olds that first stepped through the Great Hall's doors into young men and women to be proud of when they stepped out those very same doors for the last time. He knew, however, that this group held a special place for him. Events had thrown them into an uncertain world before their time, almost from the moment they had entered Hogwarts. They had been stripped of their youth while still trapped in the bodies of the young.

He looked at the witch before him. Some more than others.

Silently he reached out and tucked a curl behind Hermione's ear in a fatherly gesture. He was utterly serious when he said, "Hermione, I realize that my actions seem callus in regard to your situation, but I truly feel that you were meant to be a part of this. It might be the chance for normalcy that you've been searching for."

A trace of humor flitted across her face, turning a corner of her lips up into a shadow of a smile. "Draco Malfoy as the father of my temporary baby is NOT normal by any stretch of the imagination, Professor Dumbledore."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily. "Normal is overrated, my dear. Now," he continued, holding out his hand to hers, "let's get you down from there. We have to fill you in the particulars."

She stood to her full height and looked at his hand. "I can't guarantee anything."

"I'm not asking you to do anything more than to trust me. And to try," he told her.

An endless moment passed as she stared at his hand, lost in her thoughts. Could she do this? Could she really place herself in such a vulnerable position again? She looked at Dumbledore's face. There was no avoiding it, she realized. Her loyalty demanded that she do anything he asked of her. She lifted her hand.

The old man had never steered her wrong yet.

Hermione put her hand in his.

* * *

After searching for over an hour with no success, Draco decided to change tactics. Why go to her? Why not wait in the common room. She would have to ask Dumbledore eventually where her quarters were, since the professors liked to keep things like that hidden. 

First he'd get some food. Then he'd wait. Then mayhem. A logical, strategic course of action. Sounded like a good idea to him.

His ideas weren't worth spit lately.

Was it possible to die from too many shocks in one day? Draco would have to research that one later. Just as soon as he could get his body to function again. But for now the burning question remained... 

Why was Hermione Granger naked?

Malfoy would have said he was dreaming except for the fact that he was positive he had just come from the deserted Great Hall. He still had the plate of food in his hand to prove it. He had arrived at the common room reserved for Head Boy and Girl to find no password had been chosen yet, so the portrait had let him in without a second thought.

So there he was. Back in his dorm, standing next to the charmed swimming pool that he'd had fallen in love with on the first night back at Hogwarts like an idiot. He both cursed and blessed the sudden urge he'd had to eat in a more scenic area than his bedroom. His grip on the goblet in his other hand tightened. This is what he got for wondering about her, for dreaming about her, for secretly wanting her to be happy about being his significant other in the program. He could see the Daily Prophet headline now. "Detour Kills Malfoy Heir: Sensory Overload".

_Breathe, damn you. Breathe! _his inner voice shouted at him.

She lay on her back, hair fanning out around her while she floated among the enchanted blossoms that decorated the water. A veritable water nymph in a magic water garden, Draco thought dazedly.

Draco was afraid. Afraid that if he blinked then he would find that what he was seeing was real and that his dreams would be forever haunted by the image. Afraid that if he blinked then he would find out it _wasn't _real, and that he would never be able to see such a beautiful sight again. She stared at the ceiling charmed to appear like a forest canopy over a woodland pool, the water deafening her ears so that she hadn't heard his approach. Draco took the opportunity to indulge his inner voyeur.

He couldn't decide if he was relieved or disappointed to realize that Hermione wasn't actually naked, but noted that she was damn close. They called those scraps of cloth a bathing suit? What kind of people were these Muggles, anyway? Hedonists? She was going to get cold. A brief image of hardened nipples flashed through his mind's eye.

Great Glorious Gods. He'd die.

_What a way to go,_ his inner voice sighed. Draco mentally snorted_. I thought you wanted me to breathe so I wouldn't die?_

_Of course. Wouldn't want you to kick off too early. We might miss something truly worthwhile._

Even his inner voice, his mental guide, his supposed conscience, was a Slytherin.

_By the way, you can blink now. And ease up on the goblet. It's going to shatter._

Draco turned his attention to the chalice and quickly loosened his hold. Cheeky bastard had been right. His silver eyes swung back to the pool. Nothing but water. He hurried to the edge of the pool, crouching and frowning in consternation, disappointment weighing in his chest while he struggled to see beneath the blossoms. Had it been his imagination, after all?

_Son of a blast-end skrewt's bastard_, his inner voice swore viciously.

_You're the one who told me to blink! _

_I didn't know you'd muck up even that simple thing!_

_I am NOT having this conversation_, Malfoy mentally stated, cutting his internal conversation short. Wonderful. Now he was having discourses with himself.

Damn Granger. It was all her fau-

A hand suddenly shot out of the watery depths. In the blink of an eye it latched onto Draco's belt, perilously close to unmanning him. Malfoy didn't even have time to yelp before water closed over his head and he found himself struggling to untwist himself from his robes as he sank.

Something caught his robe and pushed it out of the way for him. He didn't hesitate--he grabbed whatever it was and held it against his body, determined that if he was going to go down, someone was bloody well going with him. Draco opened his eyes…and stared into the amused brown eyes of none other than Hermione Granger. His mind blanked.

_He was holding her in his arms_.

Granted, it wasn't exactly as he'd imagined it would be. The whole possibly dying a horribly watery death had never really come into play in his musings. Somehow, though, Draco couldn't seem to mind. All that he could think of was that this was a perfect moment and he would kiss Potter before he would willingly ruin it.

He stared at her intensely. He watched the amusement leave Granger's eyes under the unexpected onslaught. Every inch of his body burned where it touched hers. She felt so soft, with her own special warmth that had nothing to do with the enchanted pool. They turned slightly, Granger's hair floating up to envelope them in their own private world.

He could have watched her for an eternity.

But it was not to be.

Very few people really knew Draco. People knew what he wanted them to know. They knew that he loved Quidditch, that he trained hard so that he could one day see Potter suffer the most humiliating defeat in his lifetime. They knew he was cold, tough, wily, and ruthless.

What they didn't know was that Draco Black Malfoy couldn't swim.

Judging by the burning in his lungs, Hermione Granger was about to find that out.


	6. Revealed

**Disclaimer: JKR owns it all, lock, stock, and barrel. I just tinker with it.**

_A/N--Draco just can't catch a break, can he?_

_**Chapter Five- Revealed**_

Draco Malfoy was human.

Who knew?

Hermione certainly hadn't seen it coming. She'd noticed Malfoy gaping like a landed fish on the side of the pool and the second he'd turned his attention away she'd slipped beneath the surface. When he'd knelt by the water's edge, the wicked thought that it was her duty to return him to water had flashed through her head almost after she had grabbed him. Hermione sat next to Draco's bed and contemplated his still form seriously. He looked so perfect, with his flawless skin and blonde hair that normally fell in a "careless" style. Hermione was sure he spent hours creating the illusion.

She had always seen him as a sort of walking ice sculpture, cold and pale and without fault. Even his hatred had a precision to hit, never spinning out of control. But the pool had forever changed her perception of him. He'd held her so close she could see the blue flecks in his silver eyes. Those orbs had bored into her own with an force that had stunned her. She hadn't known he could feel such deep emotions, yet there they had been, however unidentifiable the majority were. She been lost in those eyes, almost forgetting to hold her breath when she saw the look he had cast her hair. Raw, naked, need.

Thank the heavens he'd almost drowned. She might have done something stupid.

Never once had it occurred to Hermione that the perfect Malfoy didn't know how to swim. She'd barely been able to wrap her mind around the concept even as she finally got him to the side of the pool and life giving air. Not before he'd had a panic attack and swallowed too much water though. She'd had to give him mouth to mouth.

Then he'd thrown up on her.

Then he'd fainted.

Yep, this school year was going to be just _thrilling_.

* * *

When Draco woke up it was night. He sat up groggily and held his head in his hands. What had happened? He froze when he heard the rustle of movement in the darkness. Slowly, he turned his head until he saw a chair next to the bed he assumed to be his. Someone was sitting there, moving restlessly. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see. His Slytherin instincts weren't sensing any danger.

He got on his hands and knees and crawled closer. Who the bloody-

"_Lumos!"_

He squinted into the sudden light. "Granger?" he asked uncertainly around the hand that shielded his eyes. He heard Hermione gasp. "Clothes!"

"What in the world are you going on about? My clothes are-" he looked down at himself.

Missing.

_Holy Mother of all the Gods in the Heavens, he was naked!_

He leapt backwards out of instinct. His feet tangled in the comforter and he lost his balance, crashing onto the floor over the foot of the bed with a painful thump. He didn't pause but grabbed the blanket to wrap himself up in even as he leapt to his feet again. "What the hell is wrong with you, Granger! Stripping unsuspecting boys of their clothes! Shameful!" he shouted at her, red faced and wagging an accusing finger in her general direction.

She stepped closer. "Malfoy I didn't-"

Draco rushed around so that the entirety of his bed stood between them. "Don't come near me, you-you-you pervert!"

Hermione gasped at the insult. "I'm not a pervert! And even if I were, it would be the pot calling the kettle black!"

"Oh, and how is that, Granger?" he tossed back sarcastically. "Lying here, minding my own business while some random Muggleborn takes my clothes off doesn't constitute perversion by any means, even in the wizarding world!"

Granger's eyes blatantly wished him a painful fate. "Swimming pool," she spat, crossing her arms over her chest.

It hit him then. The whole wonderful, humiliating, utterly confusing experience. For the first time in his life Malfoy blushed a deep, deep red that ran from his chest and crept up to engulf his face. She'd caught him spying on her. He closed his eyes. "Did I--did I throw up on you?" Please say it isn't so.

Hermione sniffed. "Yes. Right before you fainted."

"Men don't faint!" Malfoy replied hotly. "We pass out."

"Whatever it was, you were out like a light and I had to levitate you to your room."

Malfoy was struggling to maintain some shred of dignity. "Where you proceeded to get me as naked as the day I was born!" Ok, maybe that wasn't the way to do it, but he was a little disoriented right now, thank you very bloody much. Hermione straightened her shoulders. "I did not. You were dressed when I put you to bed."

"Come off it, Granger. You just wanted to see what you'd been missing all these years," he taunted. He couldn't help the little thrill he experienced at the prospect, especially since he vividly remembered what _he'd _been missing. Maybe if he offered to show her his, she'd show him hers again.

His inner voice cheered him on. Horny little bastard.

Hermione tossed her luscious hair out of her face. "It may surprise you to know that I have absolutely no interest in your body." She turned to leave, but paused in the doorway to cast him a smug look. "Besides, now that I've seen it, I am definitely sure that I haven't been missing all that much."

Malfoy's jaw dropped as she exited the room on that cheerful little note. Did she--Why that little--He was going to---

_AAAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHH!_

* * *

Back at Malfoy Manor Narcissa glanced up from her blue prints to note the time. She couldn't help but giggle. That charm she'd placed on Draco's clothes should have activated by now. She wondered what he'd been doing when it happened. 

Hopefully he'd been in the company of a very beautiful girl.

Then again, considering how much trouble he'd been giving her lately, Narcissa wouldn't have minded too much if he'd been right in the middle of the Great Hall when it happened. He could use a little humility every once in a while. Besides, it bettered the chances that someone would like what they saw and give her grandchildren even sooner than she planned.

Her mood extremely good, Narcissa turned back to her plotting, er,_strategizing_.

* * *

They weren't going to survive the year together, Draco decided as he looked into his armoire. They were never going to see graduation. They were never going to even get to the part where they would get the bloody details of the old Dragon's ridiculous scheme. Why? Because the blonde had decided to kill Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor Princess and knew he was going to go straight to Azkaban for it. 

Why? Because she didn't just content herself with the clothes on his back, the wench had absconded with his entire wardrobe!

That heifer was going down, and not even in a good way.

He wasn't even left with a blasted sock, and it was going to take a lot more than that to cover his assets. His very _attractive _assets, he might add! What did Hermione Granger know about blokes, anyhow? Malfoy snorted derisively. All she had to compare him to were Weasley and Potter, and any Bedlamite could see _that _was no contest.

He looked down at himself to check and nodded silently in approval of what he saw. He might be a pale bugger, but he was a _sexy _pale bugger. He was over six feet two and a half inches tall. He didn't have an ounce of fat on him. He was well defined, with rock hard thighs and a few other appendages he wasn't too shy to mention. He had pecs a lot of wizards would kill for. He had abs Granger could wash Weasel's second-hand clothes on, not that he'd let such inferior cloth touch him.

Which brought him back to the crime at hand.

He leaned over and waved a hand in his armoire to make sure there wasn't a concealing charm on his clothes, and encountered only air. Surely this wasn't a fair retribution for getting a little peek at her in the pool. If one looked at it in the right light, she'd gotten to see a lot more of his parts then he had hers. The way he figured it, she owed him a free show.

Just then the subject of his musings swept back into his room with a style even he could admire even as he jumped behind an armoire door to shield his still naked body. "Damn you, Granger!" he barked as she came closer. "Your little perversions may not raise any eyebrows in Gryffindor tower, but they won't fly around here, missy--" he was cut off when she unceremoniously shoved something under his nose. He backed away a little. It was a doll.

"Draco Malfoy," she said determinedly. "Meet your child."

One perfect eyebrow shot up to his hairline. "Doesn't look a thing like me," he told her. "Been seeing the milkman behind my back, Granger?"

She was not amused. She lowered the baby figure and looked at it critically. "Dumbledore gave it to me earlier along with instructions." She noted his continued nudity with a sniff. "As soon as you've dressed, you can meet me in the common room."

He hitched his blanket higher on his hips. "I would get dressed if you would give me my clothes back!"

She glared at him. "Are you still going on about that? I didn't take them!"

"Ha! Then how do you explain--" just as he stepped away to present the empty armoire, a tiny bit of magic burst and a letter appeared on the bottom of the space. "---this?" Draco snatched the parchment up and read it out loud. " 'Dear-Draco-consider-this-payback-for-robbing-me-of-my-fun-at-home-love-MUMMYKINS?" Draco finished with a shout. "PS DON'T GET A DRAFT!"

Hermione couldn't help it. She snorted. It was one of those deep guttural snorts that last for several seconds right before one bursts out in wild laughter, which she did. Draco crushed the parchment and hurled it across the room in a fit of pique. It bounced off the other wall with a rather unsatisfying lack of carnage to fall harmlessly to the floor. "Shut up!" he snapped at Hermione, annoyed to the very fiber of his being.

"Your own mother plots against you!" she gasped. "That says something for your character, Malfoy."

"All it says it that my mother has lost it and that leaves me bare-assed and fancy-free," Malfoy grunted. "Now what am I going to do?" He looked inside the armoire with just a hint of admiration for his mother's ingenuity coloring the frustration on his face. "Even my Quidditch uniform."

Hermione tapped her temple. "Hello? You're a wizard, aren't you? Cast a spell!"

Realization dawned. "Riiiiiiigggggghhhhhht," he said. "I knew that." He started for his wand. "I'll meet you in the common room in just a second." Draco picked his wand off the night stand. When he turned back, he found that Hermione hadn't left but still stood in the same spot, arms crossed and a toe tapping. "May I help you?" he asked sarcastically.

She flicked a curl out of her eyes. "Don't you owe someone an apology?"

"If you think I'm going to tell Mother I'm sorry for getting out when I could then you're--"

"Me, Malfoy, me!"

Draco's brow wrinkled, not unattractively. "Ok. I'm sorry for the milkman comment." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Prick," she muttered as she once again left the room.

Draco knew very well what Hermione wanted him to apologize for. Unfortunately for her, he was still smarting over the "not missing anything" comment.

Take that, Granger.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Malfoy was inspecting every nook and cranny of the little toy Dragon Mster had given them. Still didn't look anything like him, he thought. "So let me get this straight. We cast this spell Dumbledore gave us and then we have a real live kid on our hands, who we take care of like parents or whatever. Where's the grade part coming in?" 

Hermione sat on the couch opposite of his own before the warm fire, watching Draco turn the doll upside down and look at its toes of all things. She suppressed the urge to shake her head and held up two mirrors. "We use these to record our daily progress, our opinions, and our personal thoughts. Dumbledore looks at it at the end of an undisclosed period of time and decides from there if he will keep the program."

Malfoy grunted while he peered into the dolls ears. "So how are we going to do this?" he asked. Was this thing a boy or a girl? He eyed the diaper. There was something a bit wrong about checking that out. Hermione leaned back on the couch and pinned him with an inquisitive look. "What do you mean?" she asked slowly.

"Rather obvious. Are we going to switch off or something? You take it for one week and I the other, that sort of thing?" He had almost gathered enough courage to hook his finger on the edge of the nappy. Hermione replied in a tone that brooked absolutely no argument. "Dumbledore wants us to look at this from the perspective of a married couple. That means we do it all together, right to the last."

Well, bugger. More time to spend with Hermione. _Damnit_, he meant to say _Granger_. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Wonder if he could get her in the pool again?

She stood up abruptly and took the doll from him to lay it on the table between them. "Let's get this over with," she groused. She looked at the paper next to her and knelt on the floor. "Hold the hand." Malfoy mimicked Granger right down to the crouching position, holding the little hand between his thumb and forefinger gingerly.

"Right then. On the count of three, we say the spell at the same time and well….that will be that," Hermione finished lamely. She looked a little apprehensive, as though she were afraid the doll would suddenly jump up and bit her in the eyebrow. Malfoy swallowed, feeling none too steady himself. This wouldn't be so bad, he told himself. You change it, you feed it, you say a few things to the mirror and you're done. Babies sleep most of the time anyway, right?

_I'll have to take your word for it_, his inner voice replied shakily.

Draco looked at the spell to get the ball rolling and tried to sound it out in his head so he wouldn't forget at the last second and muck up the assignment before it even began. Talk about pressure.

"Ok," Hermione said, taking a deep breath. "One…Two….Three…"

"_Parvivolus!" _they said in unison. The doll lit up like a fireball, momentarily blinding the two students. Blinking, they stared at one another just a second before turning their attention to the doll they still held.

Only it wasn't a doll anymore.

The newly "born" baby looked back at them with the most amazing silver eyes they had ever seen. Not as pale as Draco, the baby's slightly darker skin provided the perfect contrast to the silver ringlets that had suddenly appeared. Draco's breath caught. It was real. The little hand he held curled itself around his much larger fingers, and the child kicked it's legs in delight. Hermione stared, dumbfounded.

After a moment Draco decided to try and touch more than its hand. He hesitantly stood up, reached down, and picked up the gurgling baby so that their remarkable eyes met. He was awed by the happy expression on the little thing's face.

"What should we call it?" Hermione asked in a quiet voice.

Suddenly the baby burped, showering Draco with projectile substances that he never ever ever _ever _wanted to see or smell or feel again.

"_ICK!"_


	7. Meeting

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. Damnit.**

_A/N--And the let chaos begin._

_**Chapter Six: Meeting**_

Hermione understood that it took a bit of intelligence to appreciate irony. And Hermione had that particular quality in spades.

It didn't escape her notice that the one time she had the opportunity to realize her daydreams of Malfoy meeting an unfortunate end, her Gryffindor instincts had come to the fore and she'd saved him. She couldn't ignore the fact that the boy who seemed to be made of ice could not survive in water.

Her greatest enemy had been chosen to become what amounted to her closest partner.

She had wanted to avoid children at all costs, only to give "birth" to one the first day of school. That same child had just thrown up on her "father" in much the same way he had thrown up on Hermione.

Figures.

Hermione watched as Draco danced a jig while trying to find somewhere to put the baby down and then clean himself up. While she appeared perfectly composed on the outside, even a little amused, on the inside she was a quivering mass of….well, something that she really didn't want to delve into. She was fighting for breath, struggling against memories that threatened her sanity. She couldn't do this. She couldn't touch that baby. She couldn't hold it or she'd lose her mind for sure. Hermione had been on automatic pilot the past hour, taking comfort in the familiar contention between herself and Draco. It had almost seemed like old times again for that brief moment. She had mistakenly thought that she could revert to her pre-war self without any problem….right up until the moment they had uttered the spell together and the plastic figure had become all too real.

Hermione wasn't sure what she had tricked herself into imagining what this would be like, but it hadn't been a living, breathing being that laughed and cried and felt just as much as Hermione herself did, if on a more limited range. What if she freaked out while she held it? What if she hurt it?

Hermione was very close to hyperventilating.

Apparently so was Ron.

Draco had finally placed the baby on the vacated couch and cast a cleaning charm on his clothes when the fireplace burst into action. Out tumbled Weasley, who barely paused to get his bearings or glance at the wand wielding Malfoy before he leapt up and dove over Hermione's head. He was running for the stairs that lead to bedroom gangway when the fireplace set up a commotion once more. A very furious Pansy Parkinson rushed out in a much more dignified manner than her counterpart had. "Ronald Weasley, if you don't get back here I will hex you into the next millennium!" She was panting with enough fire in her eyes to set the castle aflame. "You will take responsibility for your actions, you misbegotten spawn from redheaded hell!"

Ron never even looked back.

Pansy was after him like a shot, but not before shoving not one but _two _wailing infants into Hermione's unwilling arms. "Here, take them!" she snarled. She was up the stairs seconds later, threatening Weasel through the closed door of what used to be Hermione's bedroom. Hermione and Malfoy stared at the newly arrived packages, who calmly screamed as if their continued existence depended on it. Hermione looked from them to Malfoy to the babies again. Twins. Ronald had screwed up the spell at the last second, and turned the baby into twins.

And Pansy was upstairs ready to make him pay.

Malfoy glanced back at their own creation who played with its feet blissfully and thanked the gods that he hadn't made the same mistake. His wardrobe was limited as it was. He whipped around when he felt the fireplace stir for a third time, instinctively stepping in front of the child and pointing his wand.

This time it was Potter who came out, sitting on the floor and grinning like a mad hatter. His glasses were askew and his clothes a bit sooty, but he didn't seem to mind a bit. "Hello, Hermione!" he said in a jolly tone. "Have you had my niece or nephew yet?"

Hermione looked dazed. "I suppose I did. Don't know if it's a girl or boy, though." Potter stood up and sat next to Hermione, totally ignoring the fact that Malfoy was in the room. He wrapped his arms around Hermione and the babies and stared at them all with a pride that would make one think _he'd _given birth personally. The old fashioned way, to boot. "Aren't they beautiful?" he asked in a tender voice that Draco had no trouble hearing even over the banshee offspring of the too fertile Weasel.

Malfoy had heard that having a child scrambled a person's brains. Now he had the proof, and it was giving him a headache! He abruptly cast a silencing spell.

Ah, blessed stillness! The twins weren't crying, Pansy was no longer screaming but sending him a glare that told him death was eminent, and Potter and Granger had broken up their sickly little love bubble thing to stare at him. "Alright!" Draco barked, sheathing his wand. "Weasel, you have until the count of yesterday to come out of Granger's room. Pansy, get down here and take your spawn and sit on the couch like a civilized Slytherin. Potter-" he leveled a malevolent glare at the other boy. "--get your sooty self off of my furniture."

_And your paws off Granger_, his inner voice added silently. _Utter that drivel out loud and you're dead_, Draco told his inner voice.

_I'm not even going to comment on the stupidity behind that remark._

Nobody seemed to want to follow his directions. In a flash Malfoy drew his wand again. "_Accio Weasley, Accio Pansy, Moveo Potter_!" He snatched the baby up from the couch under his arm like a sack of flour the same moment his swished his wand to flick it at the fixture. In moments Potter landed with a thump, followed by Pansy, who fell atop Potter. The two scrambled out of the way as Weasel came sailing out of Granger's room and over the gangway. His landing sent the couch flying backward, it's three occupants tumbling back with it.

Draco smirked as he stood over the fallen like a conquering tyrant, the baby under his arm laughing and clapping in delight. He bent close to Potter's face. "Potter, meet Ick."

"So," Draco drawled after sweeping the couch back into an upright position. "We're going to play a game, kiddos. Fairly simple. I ask, you answer. One--how the bloody hell did you find out where Granger and I were staying and two, how the bloody hell did you manage to floo here? There's no floo network in Hogwarts."

True to form, Granger raised her hand to answer. Sighing, Draco restored her voice. "There is an inter-network between the Head suites in the castle. Dumbledore put each couple in a vacant suite. Harry must have been in Ronald's when all of--"she gestured to encompass everything "-happened."

Draco stared at her. The baby gurgled happily and Draco shifted it until it sat on one arm at his front and braced it with the other. It clapped its hands. Draco made a mental note to find out Ick's gender as soon as possible. He couldn't very well refer to the baby as "it" all the time. "How do you know there's more than one suite?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Malfoy. Who are you talking to? There are four suites in all, alternated each year to promote privacy and secrecy."

That's how she got back to the dorms before him. She'd likely known where they were the entire time. Draco quelled the annoyance that she'd topped him again. He shot a nasty look at Pansy and Weasley, who were still fighting silently but adding rude gestures to the 'conversation'. "Cut it out, Pansy!" he bellowed. The baby jumped. "Give them their progeny, Granger. You've got one of your own."

Hermione snorted at the sheer absurdity of the situation, but gladly did as told. She couldn't wait to get rid of the two bundles. She stood, awkwardly balancing the two, who had finally given up the crying spree and looked at Ick with interest in their little Weasley blue eyes. Well, Pansy had blue eyes too, but the disgusting twinkle was definitely in evidence. Draco cuddled Ick closer in protection against such blatant advances. Boy or girl, there was no way a Malfoy was getting anywhere near _that_.

Even if they were temporary.

Pansy shied away from the baby at first, but once she realized Ronald took the other with no strain at all she resolved to be better than he and practically snatched the infant out of Hermione's grasp. Draco figured that those daunting, the prospect of twins hadn't been what sent the one of many Redheaded Rejects to running. Must have been Pansy herself. She could be rather….intimidating. He noted that Ronald was eyeing her with something akin to morbid wonder even as he pressed his six foot three frame into the couch's arm as much as possible. Never figured Weasel to have any sort of intelligence. Then again, even the dumbest animal knew how to survive, Draco supposed.

He couldn't stop his smirk. "Stuttered at the last moment of the spell, eh, Weasley? Even in experiments you Weasels can't seem to help your rabbit-like multiplication." Ick laughed. This kid and he obviously shared the same sense of humor. He might even be able to forgive their initial introduction if this kept up. He jiggled her experimentally. Wasn't that what mothers did?

_We are in serious trouble here, mate_, his inner voice replied.

Weasel shot him a dirty look and a one-fingered salute (a/n--although I hear that in England it would be more like two fingers, commonly known as the forks). Hermione watched in dazed amusement as Draco gasped and clasped a hand over his child's eyes quickly. He was about to lay into Ron by the looks of it when Hermione decided to step in. "Listen, this is getting a bit out of hand. Malfoy, take your silencing charm off and I'm sure that these three will be quiet." She shot her men meaningful looks that implied that if they at least didn't, they would wish they had after she was through with them. Pansy seemed to have deflated somewhat and didn't look as though she would protest. She was too busy staring at the child in her lap with terror.

Draco grunted but complied. Potter was the first to speak. "Is the baby's name really Ick, Hermione?"

"Yes," Draco said, in direct contradiction with Hermione's "no." They stared at each other with surprise. "What's wrong with Ick?" Draco demanded.

"What kind of a name is Ick? We might as well name it _Bob _while we're at it!" Hermione said with a snort of derision. She was shocked to see a light of interest appear in Draco's eyes. He turned the baby to look into its face. "Bob, huh?"

The baby looked at him blankly. "Eh?" it cried, as though to say, _Are you serious?_

Draco pursed his lips and shook his head. "Sorry, no good. Ick stays."

It was Pansy who came to Hermione's defense. "You can't name a baby Ick. What will people think?" she scoffed. Hermione had been going more for the how will the baby live it down approach, but figured this new argument would sit better with Malfoy.

Which showed how much _she _knew. Draco lifted an elegant blonde brow at Pansy. "Unlike _your _little experiments-gone-wrong, Pans, _my _Ick doesn't give a damn what other people think. Malfoys are born perfect, and therefore do not need anyone's approval. Isn't that right Ick?" he asked the baby. The tiny tot lunged forward and wrapped pudgy little arms around Draco's neck to bury its face into the skin. A feeling like Malfoy had never known before suddenly burst in his chest. Warmth suffused his body as he stared in amazement at the little being who put so much trust in him. Unable to stop himself, he put a massive hand on the little back and turned his face. He breathed in and was immediately aware of the scent of Spring, with its warm sunshine and green, green grass.

Malfoy looked like he'd been hit in the head with a bludger, Hermione thought, watching him closely. He was rubbing the little back absently, appearing for all the world like a doting father. He seemed completely unaware of anyone in the room. They however watched him with intensity, unsure of how to handle the naked emotions that had suddenly flitted across Malfoy's face.

The clock struck the hour.

And Malfoy's clothes disappeared.

"MOTHER!"


	8. Spectacle

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.**

_A/N--I'm beating the crap out of Draco and I'm loving every minute of it. And I promise that this chapter will not be revised but for the grammar stuff, ok?_

_**Chapter Seven-Spectacle **_

This was not Draco's day.

First, he lost his favorite Muggle candy in miserable defeat to the Dragon King who then turned around and promptly stamped him with an imaginary "GUINEA PIG" on the forehead and thrust him into a situation he'd spent the last month of his summer avoiding his mother for. Then he was partnered with the most aggravating, infuriating, devastating, desirable woman---girl---female---THING in the history of their era, who looked too damn good in a Muggle excuse of a bathing outfit even when she tried to drown a bloke. Next he was stripped of every bit of wearable cloth and it was his MOTHER who had done it. After that he became a father without even having kissed the mother, got chucked on, invaded by the Barbaric Duo and the fast approaching Barbaric Woman, fell in love with an infant, and promptly STRIPPED AGAIN IN FRONT OF HIS MOST HATED ENEMIES.

Someone kill him. Now.

As it was, he was determined to smother himself in the covers of his bed where he'd buried himself after the Incident. He hadn't said a thing to Hermione since, and refused to come out. He was still bare-ass naked underneath the many covers, minus the one he'd appropriated for temporary robes earlier. He snorted in disgust and nearly died from inhaling a feather. Another grievance to lay at his mother's door. Draco threw the pillow off of his head and turned to look at the tot beside him. He'd taken Ick with him without a second thought in his mad dash up the stairs. The babe was examining the tassels on the pillow he'd barricaded it in with thoroughly, even tasting it to make sure of its quality. Definitely a Malfoy, he thought as he watched.

It was a fairly developed child, or so he could only assume, having never been around the species before. Ick could crawl and babbled constantly, little fingers exploring everything in reach. Maybe a year old, Malfoy guessed? He supposed even Dumbledore wouldn't trust ultra delicate newborns to green students.

It would be so much easier to know what exactly Ick's gender was if the kid had just come with some type of clothes. A dress would have tipped him off right away. As it was the kid was almost as naked as he, wearing only a nappy. His eyes dropped to the white cloth. He really didn't want to look. What if it was a girl? That would be more embarrassing than the Incident somehow.

Ick leaned over and patted his chest in a comforting gesture. "Ba, ba, ba, ba, ba!" The baby almost fell over with excitement over some little thing. Draco reached out in time to ease the fall, and suddenly a warm body curled up next to him. It was the perfect opportunity. _Ok, Malfoy, don't panic. There is nothing wrong with this. You have to change it eventually, right?_

He gulped. "Here it goes." He quickly hooked a pale finger and pulled the nappy up enough for him to see. Draco dropped the cloth almost immediately afterward, face flaming for the second or third time in his life.

Ick was a girl. He had a little girl.

Aw, **_bugger_**.

* * *

So this was bedlam, Hermione thought. 

She was trying to follow the argument between Pansy and Ron like a tennis match. They never waited long enough for her to play moderator as they had asked (much to Pansy's humiliation) before firing off a retort or new accusation. They hadn't even been "married" a day yet, Hermione thought. How were they going to make the school year? She cast an envious look at Harry, who ignored the chaos around him to play with the twins (who were boys, by the by) in the corner of the room.

Deciding she could do better with Harry than the Dynamic Duo, Hermione walked away and sat with her back to the "discussion". They were quite beautiful, she observed of the twins. Their hair wasn't the ghastly shade of red Weasley children usually suffered through but a strawberry blonde. They were stout little boys with a lot of energy and a dimple each.

Harry was blowing on a stomach while tickling another when she approached. "Having fun?" she asked with a soft smile. It was good to see him like this.

Harry grinned. "Loads. Never been around kids before." He laughed at something one of the twins did.

She scrutinized them for a moment. "You'll be a great dad, Harry." Hermione could see the laughter in Harry's eyes dim a little as they took on a sadder, more wistful quality. "I hope so," he told his girl. "I want lots of kids, Hermione. I want to have a family like the Weasleys."

"Marry Ginny and you will."

Harry shook his head. "Ginny and I….we were almost perfect for each other, but not quite, you know? Just this feeling I got, like I was practicing for the real thing." He shrugged, smiling again. "But that's ok. The real thing is going to be grand, I can see it in my mind's eye." Suddenly Hermione found herself on the receiving end of a deeply piercing look. His eyes wondered over her face intently. "Hermione, are you ok?"

She tensed ever so slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Much to Malfoy's disappointment, I'm not daft. I see things even you might not want me to see. You're not yourself, and I'm worried." He crawled over so that he sat next to her. His body faced the quarreling couple while Hermione's faced the wall. He leaned in until only a hand span separated their faces. "I get the impression that you barely stop yourself from crying," he said softly.

Brown eyes stared helplessly into green. How could she have thought that Harry wouldn't notice something different about her? Harry and Ron knew everything. Harry was just a bit quicker on the draw than Ron was. She wanted to spill everything so badly, but at the same time she couldn't get the courage to.

"Hermione?" All he had to do was speak her name, and she knew his every thought. He wanted to comfort her somehow, but couldn't without knowing what was wrong. Concern dripped from his tone. Hermione saw love shining from every particle of Harry, even if it did sound cliché. The corner of her lips quirked. Then the other corner. Before she could think an outright grin spread across her lips and she beamed at her friend. The sparkle Harry had missed reappeared in her eyes. She threw herself in his arms, laughing like a loon. Then she planted a kiss that had Harry seeing stars.

Even Pansy and Ron stopped bickering to stare at her. Hermione finally let Harry up for air moments later. Harry stared at her. "You're the best friend a girl could have, Harry Potter," she told him gaily. She leapt to her feet. "I've got to go check on Malfoy now!"

"Glad I could help," Harry said softly as he watched her bound up the stairs. "What was that all about?" Ron and Pansy said together. Harry shook his head. "No clue. But I hope I do it again." He flopped on his back with a sigh.

* * *

She'd been looking at this all wrong. She'd been so worried about hurting the baby that she'd forgotten why she'd been in the war to begin with. It had hit her a few moments ago with Harry. Since the three of them had become friends it had always been about _being _there for one another through the good, bad, ugly, or worse. Hermione knew that the memories weren't going to let go of her in her lifetime, but she could do what Harry did and use them to see the better things and appreciate them. Dumbledore was right--this was the opportunity.

Hermione stood in front of Malfoy's door. It was out of sight of the common room, set deeper back into the stone than hers was. She took a deep breath. She was Hermione Jane Granger, damnit. She had survived death, destruction, and idiots. She was intelligent, she was powerful, hear her roar.

Hermione shook her arms and cracked her neck. She was not going to let memories hold her down, she told herself. She was going to knock on this door, tell Malfoy to get his arse up and dressed, and she was going to give that baby a proper name. Hermione Jane Granger was no pushover. She was the Gryffindor Princess, Ron and Harry's best friend, and a damn good academic. She was going to take care of that baby and protect it and nurture it and show everyone--_EVERYONE_--that no one beat Hermione Granger down!

_Raaaaaarrrrrr!_

She raised her fist high and brought it down with enough force behind it to shatter the castle's massive main doors, so pumped was Hermione. How was she supposed to know that Malfoy was going to open the door the same moment she was trying to punch a hole through it?

Apparently she was also Hermione Jane Granger, girl with the unrelenting right fist as well. Noses lived in terror of her.

"_Curse you, Granger!"_ Malfoy bellowed in pain and fury, clutching his bloody nose. Ick wailed at the unexpected noise. Hermione jumped up and down in uncharacteristic panic. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, I was trying to knock on the door but you opened it first and then you just sort of stepped into it--" she cut herself off and tried to think rationally. "Give me the baby," she ordered. She took it even before Draco could think. She tried to sooth it awkwardly by patting it on its back. "Get your wand and fix yourself!"

"You bloody wench, one of these days I'm going to-" Malfoy threatened nasally.

"Go before you bleed to death!" Somehow Malfoy managed to level a baleful glare at her even over a handful of blood before trudging to his nightstand where his wand lay once more. Thank heavens he was wrapped in a sheet again, although Hermione would never in a million years imagined herself ever thinking that thought and actually being grateful. Fixing his nose was no problem; they had all learned healing spells in a hurry in the short but brutal war. Once it was done he marched back over to Hermione and shook a fist at her. "Just what were you bloody well thinking--?"

Hermione thought fast. "Don't curse in front of the baby!" she snapped.

That stopped him cold. "Come again?" he barked. He planted his fists on his hips in a battle stance that would have done Molly Weasley proud. "Did you just tell me what to do, Granger?"

She eyeballed him. "According to what I've read, Ick is about a year old. That means it's ready to talk, especially given who the parents are. That means it will repeat everything you said. Do you want a toddler that swears like a sailor?" she asked disdainfully.

"She," Draco replied. Hermione blinked. "What?"

He pointed to the baby. "Ick is a girl. A 'she', not an 'it'. I, um, checked a few minutes ago," he finished. Was his skin a bit pink?

Hermione shook the unlikely possibility off and focused on the task at hand--getting her way. "And that's another thing. Ick is not a proper name. A little girl deserves a name to be proud of."

Draco rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Are we back to this again. Ick _likes _her name."

"Ick would eat mud. What does _she _know?" Hermione retorted.

"She would _not_," Draco defended the baby's honor. "She's got better taste than that."

Apparently Ick knew which end her bread was buttered on. She came out of the calm she'd settled into in the last few moments and reached her arms out to Draco again, fingers opening and closing. Draco took her gingerly. He still wasn't sure about this whole holding thing, but he was getting the hang of it, he supposed. He hadn't dropped her, anyway. That was progress in his book. She tucked her blonde head in the curve of his neck in what was fast becoming a familiar position. She watched Hermione with curious eyes while sucking a tiny thumb.

She wasn't a very big baby. Hermione only knew by motor-skill observations what her age was. She was petite in every way, right down to the tiny nose. Hermione sighed. Ick was obviously feeling more attached to Draco because of Hermione's earlier reticence. She could only hope that the baby would warm up to her in time. She brushed a curl behind her ear absently, unaware of Malfoy's eyes following the movement. "How about Vivica?" she suggested. "It's Latin. It derives from "to live". How does that sound to you?"

Draco looked down at Ick. She raised her head and stared back at him. The baby nodded after a moment and laid her head back down with a sigh. Hermione wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't seen it herself. There was more to the newly named Vivica than met the naked eye. She resisted the urge to start firing questions concerning development. "So…um, are you ready to come out now?" she asked uncertainly.

"I was coming to get you," he said darkly. "I've decided that Ick needs clothes and so do I, and the only way to get them is to go straight to the source."

"Vivica."

"Whatever. Suffice it to say that Mother will have everything we need. I need you to be my lookout for Peeping Toms. We have to go to Dumbledore's office." He grabbed her hand and strode out of his room. Hermione stumbled along behind him, utterly confused. "Why would your mother have girl's baby clothes?" she asked.

They were back in the common room. "Pansy, take it back to your own common room," Malfoy commanded. "And you'd better be gone too when I get back, Potter!" He forced his earlier humiliation to the back of his mind and revealed only haughty dislike. Never mind those two skrewts had seen more of his body than his own mother (excluding babyhood). He pulled Hermione to the portrait. "I'll tell you later," he said gruffly. His nose hurt, damnit. He pushed her into the hall. "Now get going. I don't want to get jumped by any hormonal Gryffindors who are hot for my body."

Hermione muttered something unintelligible but obviously mean spirited. She was intrigued, however, and decided to play along.


	9. Discovery

**Disclaimer: I'm still waiting for JKR to realize what a great addition to the family I would be and adopt me so I can say these characters are mine, but she hasn't and they aren't. **

**_

* * *

Discovery _**

Draco poked his head around the corner at the end of the hall. "Do you see anyone?" he hissed dramatically. Hermione stood in the center of the connecting hall. She looked right and left. "No." She was using a normal voice. Malfoy was the drama queen, not her.

"Well?" he barked in a whisper. "Get a move on, Granger! Go check the other hall!" He tiptoed around the corner he'd been hiding behind. Rolling her eyes, Hermione complied. She looked back. He was shimmying along the wall, back pressed as close to the stone as he could manage. She could almost bet money that Malfoy (had he been able to manage keeping a set of clothes on for more than an hour) would have been wearing a black thief's suit and a matching mask, given the oppurtunity. One would have thought he was a cat burgler on the highest ledge of the tallest tower. Instead he was in a perfectly normal hall with little to no chance of discovery, lookinga bit ridiculous trying for extreme caution in nothing but a green bed sheet.

Hermione could have made this a lot easier on him. Ever the efficient one, she had drawn up prefect patrolling schedules on the train to school, making a prefects' meeting unnecessary. That meant that she knew when and where all of the prefects would be at any given time. They wouldn't be found unless she wanted them to be.

Malfoy could be walking like a normal person without fear instead of jumping at every shadow and depending on her to guard his virtue._ Then again_, Hermione thought with a smirk as she made a show of glancing around the other corner, _where was the fun in that?_

Ick stayed quiet the entire time, taking in everything around her with a curiosity that had to have been part of Hermione's contribution. Draco had the uncanny feeling that the little girl was cataloguing and processing everything around her. Now, however, was not the time to think about that. They were on a mission to get a wardrobe.

Granger was certainly taking her sweet time about the whole thing, he thought sourly even as he checked out her bum through her Muggle jeans. Damn hedonists were going to be the death of him. Thank the gods the sheet was a heavy one and didn't tent up like it should have. Did the girl own one decent outfit? One that didn't show off her curves to all and sundry?

They finally made it to Dumbledore's office before Draco could have a heart attack over the way her Muggle shirt moved. They gave the password quickly and stepped into the moving stairwell. The Headmaster was waiting for them despite the late hour. He glanced back from his window, one eyebrow shootingup to his hairline at Draco's appearance. "I don't pretend to keep up with the latest fashions, Mr. Malfoy, but I do not think that this one works for you," he said mildly.

If Malfoy could have told the Headmaster what he thought of him without getting expelled, he would have. But _expelled_ meant back to the manor _permanently_, with no peace from his mother's antics. Malfoy made a mental note to make a list of all the things he wanted to say to Dumbledore and resolved to read him the riot act the moment he graduated. "Mother's placed a charm on my clothes. We have to get to the manor to make her give them back and get some things for Ick." He indicated the little girl in his arms.

Dumbledore faced them fully now. He came closer and looked at the baby. "Ick?"

"Vivica, Headmaster," Hermione interjected with a look to Draco that spoke volumes. He rolled his eyes. "Ick, Vivica, whatever."

Dumbledore held out his hand the little girl. She cocked her head at him as she sat straight. After a moment she seemed to make a decision and held her arms out to be held. Draco felt just a bit betrayed. The Old Dragon laughed that little gravelly laugh of his as he took her with an ease that bespoke practice. "Hello, Vivica." She was playing with his beard, tugging on one of the brightly colored beads interwoven there. "Such a pretty child. She has your curly hair, Miss Granger."

Draco crossed his arms. "She's a Malfoy everywhere else," he stated. There was just a hint of pride. "And Malfoys do not run around mostly naked. So if you would just move aside-"

Hermione stepped forward quickly to save the day. "May he have permission to go back home, Headmaster? It would only be a night. He can't continue like this. He also says that his mother has things that we need in order to take care of Ick--I mean, Vivica."

"Certainly, Mr. Malfoy. Although I'm sure I'm disappointing several ladies in this school by giving my permission to retrieve your clothes."

Malfoy smirked at Hermione as if to say, _See? Even the Headmaster knows that there are girls out there who want me._

Not missing anything, indeed.

He jerked a thumb at Hermione. "She's got to come with me to. The whole married project thing and all that."

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course." He walked them over to the fireplace. Hermione looked at Malfoy with apprehension. "Are you sure it's ok for me to come too? I mean, will your mother….?" Malfoy waved off the sentiment. "She'll be thrilled to death once she sees Ick, and the fact that you helped make it happen will qualify you for sainthood in her eyes."

"Vivica," Hermione corrected weakly.

Draco reached for the baby. "Whatever. Time to go, kid." She waved gaily at the Headmaster over his shoulder as they stepped into the fireplace. That's when things got a bit sticky. In order for the three of them to fit in Dumbledore's fireplace, Malfoy and Hermione would have to place Ick between them and hug one another. Determined to keep a cool head, Draco tried to ignore the racing in his heart when he wrapped an arm tightly around Hermione's shoulder, Ick cradled between their bodies. He couldn't, however, ignore the smell of freesia and lavender that drifted from her hair. He sniffed as inconspicuously as possible, resisting the urge to bury his face in the tresses that pressed into his bare shoulder.

Hermione hoped that no one noticed that her hand shook slightly reaching for the floo powder. Why was she so nervous? Why was she suddenly very aware of Malfoy's naked chest mere inches from her eyes. It was a very nice chest too, if her peripheral vision was anything to go by. For the very first time she noticed that Malfoy wasn't just some entity that had hated her with a passion for six years…..He was a boy. As in a potential boyfriend boy, like Viktor Krum had been, one that had emotions and complex thoughts and attractive qualities.

When the hell had that happened?

"Put your arm around me, Granger," he said thickly. His breath drifted lazily across her suddenly sensitive skin and it took all of Hermione's will power to suppress the shiver that wanted to run down her spine. Oh, but she didn't want to touch him, not one bit. But if she didn't, there was a chance that they wouldn't get to the same place. So she sucked it up and wrapped her arm around his slim hips, trying to block the feel of skin burning skin with very little success. "Are we ready?" she asked gruffly.

"As I'll ever be," was Draco's dry reply. It was full of innuendo.

Time to go, Hermione thought with panic. "Malfoy Manor!" They disappeared with a firey green poof. Dumbledore shook his head at the place where the couple had just been, finally releasing the roaring laughter he had been holding back. Tears leaked from his blue eyes. "Oh, Narcissa!"

* * *

"MOTHER!" 

The roar made Narcissa nearly spill tea all over her precious blue prints. "Draco!" she gasped. She got up and raced out of her bedroom down the hall and to the railing that over looked the foyer. There stood her son, nearly naked as the day he'd come into the world but for a sheet. He was covered with barely any soot at all, considering the impeccable care the house elves took of that particular fireplace. Only a smudge on the shoulder and his cheek were evident. But it wasn't that bit of information that drew Narcissa's attention. Draco had not only brought someone with him, he was currently holding the hand of the infamous Hermione Granger….who held a baby.

"Draco!" Narcissa cried in delight. "You brought them to meet me!" She knew it was no such thing, but chose to ignore that. She ran to the stairs and rushed down them. She was in such a hurry that she tripped several steps up. In a flash her son had her in his arms, sweeping her off her feet. He glared down at her. "For the love of the gods, woman, are you trying to break your neck?"

Malfoy's mother was beautiful. Hermione remembered her from years before, but somehow mere memory did her no justice. Narcissa had long blonde hair that flowed free like a young girl's to her waist. She was surprisingly young, likely only in her thirties. She could have honestly been a supermodel.

And Draco had never looked so--manly. He held his mother cradled in his arms with no effort at all. Narcissa's robin egg blue nightgown made them both look ethereal. His bare upper body rippled with muscles Hermione had never noticed until now. His longish hair gave him a rogue's look.

He-they-looked perfect. Hermione started a little when Narcissa turned her attention to her. "Hello!" she said from the safety of Draco's arms. "I'm Draco's mother!"

Draco set her down firmly on the main floor. "Be careful," he said gruffly. "Mother, this is Hermione Granger." He watched as his mother wasted no time rushing over to Hermione's side and welcoming her with open arms that clearly stunned Granger. She looked over his mother's shoulder at him, appearing extremely unsure of herself. _You're on your own, Granger_, he thought to himself.

"What a darling little girl," Narcissa gushed over Ick. She took her out of Hermione's arms and held up high before cradling her close. "What's her name?"

Hermione's brows furrowed. "How did you know the baby was a girl?"

"Because," Draco snorted. "Mother's the one behind the whole Future Parents Program scheme."

Narcissa tried to deny it. "Now Draco--"

He wagged a finger at her in accusation. "Don't 'now, Draco' me, Narcissa Black! I knew the moment Dumbledore announced the program who was behind it. You'd been on this crazy kick about grandchildren for two whole weeks and then suddenly went quiet. It was no coincidence that Dumbledore had the same idea. He needed funding and research, both of which are easily at our disposal. Then my clothes start disappearing. And let's not forget that little comment you made not three minutes ago. 'Oh Draco!'" he mimicked in a falsetto voice, " 'You brought _them _to meet me!' How did you know who they were, _Mummykins_, if your fingerprints weren't all over this entire scenario to begin with?"

Narcissa pouted. "You always were a bit smarter than I wanted you to be."

Hermione looked from one Malfoy to the next. What kind of family was this? She answered her own question with a shake of her head. A Slytherin one, of course. "So," she drawled out. "Does this mean that she can stop the program too?"

Two pairs of eyes pinned her where she stood. They watched her closely as though searching for some secret in her face. "Oh, no," Narcissa said. "I merely started it. It's Dumbledore's project now."

Draco was wondering just how badly Granger wanted to get out of working with him. Did she think that being that close to him all the time would be that bad? He was a bit insulted. He looked at Ick. She was a pretty baby, seemed happy enough. Surely Hermione could hang in there if for no other reason than Ick's welfare. But then what was he thinking? She'd stick it out simply because it was at Dumbledore's request that she do this. She was disgustingly loyal like that.

A moment of silence ensued. "Um, Malfoy, didn't you want to ask your mother for something?" Hermione prompted.

"What? Oh." He turned to Narcissa and stuck out his hand. "I want my clothes back and I want them now, free of charms." He snapped his fingers impatiently. "And I want clothes for Ick, too. I'm sure you've got something around here somewhere. I know you have bottles," he said in a significant tone.

"Ick?" Narcissa asked.

"Vivica," Hermione corrected. Draco sighed. "Whatever!"

* * *

Less than an hour later, Draco was fully clothed and digging through the attic. "Go upstairs and find it Draco," he mocked his mother. "Find what, woman? There is hundreds of years worth of junk up here and you actually expect me to find something in all this? You could have had it all in a room waiting for me, but NOOOO, we had to stick it willy-nilly in the most remote place in the house!" 

He kicked a trunk in frustration. It was dark, he was tired, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into his nice big bed downstairs. He stopped for a second. Wonder where Herm-Granger would sleep? There was a pram in Draco's room that would serve as a temporary baby bed for Ick. Would she want to be near the baby? That would mean….

_Bugger_.

He thought of two bodies (you could guess whose) pressed together in the dark, wrapped in his blankets. He remembered what she had felt like pressed against him in the pool and felt a wave of desire hit him hard enough to send him reeling. He groaned. _Damn_ her. Damn _him_. Now that he had seen what she looked like underneath her robes he'd never have a platonic dream again.

Rage sweep close behind the desire. Why was this happening to him? He'd been perfectly content. He didn't need Granger or any of her accompanying complications. She was the Gryffindor Princess. She was everything he wasn't. She was his nemesis. She wasn't interested in him. She barely realized that he was even male! He didn't want to _want_ her or _dream_ about her or _think_ about her ever again! Draco threw his fist into another trunk, knocking it over. It tumbled to the attic floor with a great commotion and hit a flat cloth covered object of some kind. Draco caught it with ease before it too fell.

The cloth fell off of it, and Draco gasped when he realized what it was too late. "No," he choked out seconds before the mirror reached out and sucked his mind into the world of nightmares.

He had first seen this mirror himself when he was six years old and being taught a lesson for some sort of infraction. His father had shouted at him that the Malfoy code of behavior was not to be broken. Lucius had never hit him in his life, but there were ways of playing with the mind. He heard his mother crying and begging his father while he brought out a mirror... to stop, that Draco didn't know any better. His father replied coldly that his son would know better after he was through with him.

This was that same mirror, Draco knew. The counterpart to the Mirror of Erisad, this particular mirror showed the witness his worst fear.

_Vertigo. Then the black that had engulfed him for a moment receeded. He was watching Hermione suddenly. _They were in school. Classes had begun. She sat with her back to him in class._ She paid studious attention to every word that came out of the professor's mouth while he could not drag his eyes away long enough to even register which class they were actually in. Everything else in the room was blurry but for her. Every inch of Hermione was in sharp focus._ She whispered something in her deskmate's ear. Her profile was so sweet. He could clearly see the round of her cheek, the little freckles that sprinkled the bridge of her nose, the laughter that shone silently in her brown eyes.

_He watched her every day. He found himself wanting to say something to her and as the seasons changed in the window that framed her the urge only grew stronger. _Draco decided that he needed to talk to her. He had to say something, anything, to relieve the pressure building in his chest. _But to his horror every time he tried to come close she would stare right through him. _She couldn't see him_. To her, he simply wasn't there._

_The scene changed. He saw himself at night dreaming of her, wanting her with him._ He could feel the way he touched himself and feverishly imagined that it was Hermione that touched him._ His emotions deepened and took such root inside that he knew they would never let him go._

_He saw her kissing someone else then, some unknown figure that Draco wanted to kill without ever having seen his face. They stood in a sunlit courtyard, surrounded by spring and warmth while Draco shivered from cold they never seemed to feel._ This couldn't be happening! Hermione! _He shouted at Hermione to stop. He told her that she was meant to be with him, not someone else!_

She never heard him.

_Draco was at graduation. _Hermione was crying happy tears and accepting her beau's proposal seconds after the ceremony had ended. _He tried to push through the crowd to get to her before it was too late, but no matter how many people he pushed out of the way there were dozens more to obstruct his path._

_He was then at the wedding, watching helplessly as she walked down the aisle looking more beautiful than he had ever seen her._

_He was at St. Mungos when she gave birth to another man's child, he was at the platform watching her help her child to the train for the first time, someone else holding her while she cried._

_He saw himself grow old and alone while she was so happy with someone else._

_Hermione was always in the light, while he remained forever in the shadows until he died, calling her name with his last breath._

Draco threw the mirror away with all the force he could muster. It flew to land in some unknown place in the massive attic. He paid it no attention, instead falling to his knees to bury his face in his hands. His heart pounded painfully and his breath couldn't seem to steady. Why? Why did she never hear him? Why did she leave him to the shadows?

In the solitude of Malfoy Manor's dusty attic, Draco Black Malfoy was forced to face something he had been denying with all of his being for longer than he could remember.

He was in love with Hermione Jane Granger.

And he didn't want to be in the shadows anymore.


	10. Road to Hell

Disclaimer: I own nothing. It all belongs to JKR.

_**Road to Hell**_

Hermione was mentally cataloging the events in her life that could have warranted a punishment such as the one before her.

She was going to fail. For the first time in her life, she'd come up against something that defied all logic despite the numerous volumes on the subject. It discombobulated her, it made her want to hide under Hagrid's massive covers and never come out again.

It wasn't even three feet tall, damnit!

And now it had found another ally in Narcissa Malfoy, the former wife of one of the most notorious men of the age. She watched Ick, _er Vivica_, and Narcissa play together as though the two hadn't just met an hour ago. They had adjourned to a sitting room for tea while Narcissa sent Malfoy on some kind of hunt in the attic. Hermione had had to bite her tongue to keep from begging Malfoy not to leave her alone. Hell had almost frozen over, but Hermione had regained her wits just in time. He'd disappeared in a huff and hadn't graced them with his odious presence since.

Hermione fiddled with her fragile teacup. What was she going to do? She had to ace this project! She had never failed at anything before, unless one counted Divination. She'd sworn to protect, nurture, and name the child before her. One out of three wasn't so bad, but Hermione knew the game was just beginning. Her years at Hogwarts had taught her that nothing of this caliber was ever simple. It wouldn't be long before something happened to test her resolve and ability to carry out her self-designated duty.

But how was she supposed to protect a child that seemed to prefer Malfoy to her? Not only did that say a lot about the little girl's questionable taste, but Hermione had yet to truly hold the child much less actually protect it. And as for nurturing…well, that was a whole new kettle. She'd read about baby development briefly, and never baby nutrition.

What did babies eat?

The little girl had to eat at some point. Clothes were a more immediate concern, but the other was an inevitability. And Malfoy was taking his bloody sweet time with whatever he was doing.

"So Hermione," Narcissa said. She's tried small talk, now it was time to get down to business. "I realize you and Draco haven't exactly been the best of friends all these years, but I do hope that the two of you will come out of this program with a much closer relationship. Children do tend to throw parents together quite often, and I would imagine this precious little girl will be no different." She rubbed her nose with the baby's. "Isn't that true, Ick?"

"Vivica," Hermione corrected faintly.

* * *

He needed a plan and he needed one now, Draco decided. He had since abandoned his search. It had occurred to him at some point that he was giving unnecessary effort when he could just send a house elf to do the job. He now paced the dusty attic floor in a flurry of activity_. Think think think think think_, he commanded himself. 

Ok, earth-shattering revelations that rocked the very fabric of his being aside, he was going to hell in a hand basket if he didn't pull himself together soon and come up with some kind of course of action. Hermione Jane Granger was no easy pickup. She was intelligent, stubborn, and had one hell of a grudge against him.

Difficult, but not insurmountable.

He hoped.

_What the hell kind of an attitude is that? You're Draco Black Malfoy, by the gods! Start acting like it._

Draco stopped pacing and drew himself upright. Bloody damn right! He was Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune and influence. He was handsome, rich, charming, and intelligent. He was the catch of the century, blast it all. No Muggle born egghead was going to intimidate him. No matter how damn sexy she looked in a bathing suit.

Draco nodded to himself. _That's the spirit, Malfoy. Get a plan, sweep her off her feet, and live happily ever damn after. _

List, list, he needed to make a list. Lists made it easier for him to think. He whipped out his wand and seconds later had a quill and parchment. He appropriated a waist high trunk as his desk. Free writing was even better than list-making. Hmmm…

_Astute_,Malfoy scratched. _Not easily fooled. Any plan with have to be either extremely complicated and secretive….or…..use shock factor and tell her straight out how I feel?_

Malfoy scowled at the last sentence and tapped his chin with the feather quill in thought. While the Slytherin in him relished the joys of a complex plan, the shock factor was simpler and just as effective. It would allow him to get down to the business of wooing faster. He nodded once more. Definitely the shock factor. Less time for her to hit him and more time for him to enjoy the look on her face.

Alright, so the admission part of the process was pinned down. He'd tell her what's what and make sure the entire school knew it too. Wouldn't want anyone sniffing around and making this harder than it had to be. Draco briefly and only mentally thanked Dumbledore for sticking his joyful little nose where it wasn't wanted. Ick would be the perfect beginning bond between himself and Hermione. Ick was cute, adorable,smart, and a Malfoy. Probably needed tons of attention and together time with both of her parents.

He had noticed Hermione's stiffness around the baby. It was understandable. Hell, the only reason he didn't take off running from the little thing was that Ick looked too damn much like him to abandon her. He saw himself in the little mite, and he'd be damned if he would be like his father. He was sticking with her come hell or high water or more disgusting substances emitting from her mouth.

He'd just have to do a lot of researching first.

Which led him back to Hermione. Visions of the three of them ensconced in a quiet corner of the library warmed him. She'd get more comfy with Ick and he'd definitely make sure he got comfy with _her_. What could go wrong?

But the library wasn't the only possibility. He had to find out what she like. Oh, sure he knew her weaknesses and the like, but not in the whole _I think you're wonderful let's get married _sort of way. How did Muggles court? He would have to look it up. He could fall back on wizarding tradition but Hermione was a whole new animal, so to speak.

He shrugged. Besides, Muggles seem to multiply like lust potioned rabbits, so whatever they were doing was definitely working.

* * *

Narcissa had abandoned her. She had questioned her endlessly until Hermione had begun to understand what victims of the Inquisition had felt like. When did she and Draco first meet, how did Ick come into being, what did Draco say when he found out about the program. The question about where Malfoy had been when his clothes first disappeared had been a bit odd, but Hermione had answered and explained about Malfoy's near drowning. Narcissa had let loose peals of laughter that had been surprisingly pleasant to listen to. 

She finally had lost patience with Malfoy and conjured the sweetest clothes Hermione had ever seen for Ick. Tiny little blue and green stripped lounge pants and a simple white little tee shirt should not have affected Hermione so, but there it was. Ick looked as cute as a mini-Malfoy could be. Narcissa had then Apparated the pair to a library while she went in search of her son. "Lots of good baby books here," she said over her shoulder.

A house elf had appeared with a tray of finger food that reminded Hermione that she hadn't eaten in hours.

"According to this," she told Vivica, who was playing with her own book. Hermione sat Indian style on the floor with the baby. Ick turned the pages one way and then another. Hermione would have taken it away for fear of torn pages, but the threat of a crying spree from Vivica was enough to stay her hand. Hermione looked back at the book in her lap and reached over to get a cracker from the tray next to her. "According to this, Vivica," she repeated, "Your motor skills should be that of an infant of twelve months. You can almost use words, imitate others' actions, and--" Hermione's brow raised "--say Mama or Dada?"

She looked at Vivica in an assessing manner. "Well? Can you?"

She was asking validation from a year old infant. Hermione sighed. She should have stayed at home this year. "We'll come back to that later. Let's see….ok, drinks from cup." Hermione watched Ick hold a tea cup Narcissa had given her and greedily gulp. "Check," Hermione muttered. "Can eat finger food….What's finger food…" The tray caught her eye. "Ah."

She picked up several choices. "Are you hungry, Ick, I mean Vivica?" She crawled a few feet. The little girl eyed her warily, but didn't cry. Yet. Hermione decided this was encouraging and get ever closer, holding her offering out. "Here baby baby baby…." she coaxed.

Great. This is what she was reduced to. Bribery, and bad bribery at that.

Well, she had to get the little girl to like her somehow, right? Hermione reasoned. It wasn't so bad. Almost like getting her late cat Crookshanks to eat.

Hermione ignored the pang the memory of her beloved cat caused and refocused on the situation at hand. "Come on Ick. Look," she bit into the cracker and chewed with excessive relish. "Yummmm," she moaned. "It's good. Why don't you try it?" She held her hand out again.

It was almost scary to see the workings in Vivica's eyes as she decided if it was safe to take food from the hands of the crazy lady. Hermione could practically see the pros and cons being weighed in the little girl's mind. Whatever her beginnings, this child's brain was no slouch. Hermione would almost bet that given time, this child would say a great deal more than "Mama" or "Dada".

Very, very slowly, a pudgy little hand reached out and took the offering.

From there on it became easier. Vivica stuffed her little face while she allowed Hermione to pick her up and place the little girl in her lap. She watched in a little bit of awe when Vivica decided that Hermione needed to be fed as well. She used Hermione's body for leverage and stood up on her own. Hermione kept her hands on the little waist while she accepted the crackers shoved in her mouth. It seemed to please the infant and she bounced in excitement, grinning from ear to ear. It was rather like watching a pixie, Hermione decided.

When Vivica finished eating some minutes later Hermione decided it was time to test the waters. "Wonder if you can walk?" She got to her knees and set Vivica on her feet. The little girl looked a bit confused, but stayed steady. "Come on, Vivica. Show me what you can do." She held out her arms. "Come here."

It was then she felt it. As Vivica was about to take her first step, an icy chill ran down Hermione's spine. _Something was watching them._

In seconds Vivica was snatched up in Hermione's arms and clutched close, her wand out and pointing at an unseen menace. She looked around the library. There was no one in sight. The entire room had taken on a chilling temperature, however. Only a few sconces were lit, leaving the rest of the room in flickering shadows. Narcissa had apparently not meant to stay away so long.

Every hair stood on end and every nerve twitched with awareness. Ick seemed to feel something as well. She buried her head in Hermione's shoulder and whimpered. "Who's there?" Hermione demanded. Nothing moved. All she could see were dark bookshelves and paintings. But she knew something was there.

_She could hear it breathing._

Hermione felt panic welling inside but kept a part of her detached. She had been in many situations of extreme peril. This had the same vibe. Whatever it was, the intruder was no friend to her or Ick.

It was moving. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to its motions, only seemed to want to get closer to her.

"_Mudblood_," something half growled, half hissed. "_Foul, dirty creature_," it said again from several feet in the opposite direction of the first utterance.

Very real fear froze her blood. She couldn't track it. She did a complete circle. "We're hear at the invitation of Draco Malfoy himself," she said in false haughtiness. "Who are you to insult his guests?"

"_A creation of the first Malfoy, set to protect the purity of this house. It has been so for a thousand years, and shall not be disrupted by your infection any longer._"

Hermione felt the breath on her neck.

It was right behind her.

She whipped around. Her eyes widened.

A scream of terror ripped through the manor.

There was a popping sound in the attic next to Draco. "Master!" cried a terrified house elf. "Master must come quick! Master's guests are in danger!"

Malfoy whipped around. "What? What's happened?" Suddenly Narcissa Apparated next to the house elf. "Draco, the paintings are screaming!" she cried out. "What's going on?"

"It's the Lamia, Master!" the house elf said.

Draco went cold. It couldn't be true! He'd heard legends in his childhood of the Lamia. A Greek queen had once been Zeus' lover, then had been cursed by his wife Hera in her jealousy. Her children had been killed, and her body transformed. From the waist up it was supposed to be a beautiful woman but for her brass claws and iron teeth, with eyes that glowed with unholy fire. From the waist down Lamia was a giant serpent. The first Malfoy was supposed to have imprisoned Lamia and named her guardian of the manor. There hadn't been a Muggle born in Malfoy Manor is so many centuries it was impossible to know if it was true or not. Until now.

And she ate human children in revenge for the loss of her own.

Fear rippled through him. "Mother, get your wand!" he barked, whipping out his own.

Narcissa already had hers. "They're in the south library. Oh, Draco, what if they're hurt?"

"Then the gods help Lamia," Draco vowed.

They Apparated to the library in question only to find it in a unholy wreck. Massive bookshelves had been flung around like little building blocks. There were holes in the wall and burn marks in the floor. Traces of frantic magic still lingered in the air. "Come on," Narcissa called. They ran for the door to the library and out into the hall. They heard Ick wail and the screeching of something in pain.

Hermione's wand lay at Draco's feet. She was defenseless.

* * *

Hermione was running for life. 

She hurtled around corners at breakneck speed, heart pounding, the air struggling to get into her lungs. She'd recognized the thing on sight, and couldn't keep the scream inside at the realization. Hermione had thrown all she had into the spells she'd hurled at the Lamia in the library, only to have them shaken off like so much water. The creature was ancient, Hermione realized, and she had known then that it would take more than a seventeen year old girl to defeat it. Even the killing curse had only fazed it long enough for her to fling several bookcases at it. It bought her enough time to make it to the door. "MALFOY!" she had screamed. "MALFOY HELP!"

She had skidded across the marble floor when she turned to fast. The Lamia, screaming in rage while half buried underneath the massive bookcases, had used its tail to hurl a chair through the double doors. It had clipped Hermione in the shoulder and sent her crashing to the floor. She'd wrapped both arms around Ick to shield her, but her wand had gone flying several feet in the opposite direction.

Her breath gone, Hermione had reached out for it….

Only it was too late. With a roar the Lamia had freed itself from the pile and thrown itself after Hermione. It had been stay and die or run and live.

So Hermione ran, leaving the wand behind.

"MALFOY!" she yelled as she ran. "GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE AND HELP ME!" She dove to the floor when a painting came boomeranging through the air, it's occupant crying out in terror. "How dare that thing throw me!" the woman inside hollered.

"Get Draco!" she told it, getting back to her feet. The Manor was huge and unfamiliar to her. There was so many twists and turns Hermione wasn't sure if she was running away from the Lamia or toward it. "Go!" she barked at the painting. She hurtled through a door and slammed it closed behind her.

She was in some kind of showroom. It was huge, like a ballroom. She stood at the top of a long flight of stairs that led to what looked like a…training auditorium?

She didn't stop but ran down the steps. On the back wall were weapons of all shapes and sizes. Hermione bypassed punching bags and other training devices of all kinds to get to the wall. Ick and she held on to one another tightly, but Hermione realized that she could not hold the little girl if she had any hope of fending off Lamia.

"Mudblood!" Lamia roared from the hall. Hermione knew that Lamia could probably smell her fear and would find them soon. She searched for somewhere to hide Ick. To either side of the wall were piles of mats that one could tumble with. Hermione went to the one on her right and pushed it out of the way enough to put Ick in the corner. Ick whimpered and didn't want to let go, but time was of the essence. "I'll come back for you, baby," she whispered urgently. "You must be very very quiet, alright? Don't let that thing find you!" She shushed the child briefly and put her in the corner, pushing the mats back so that they would protect and cover her.

She lurched for the nearest weapon just as Lamia burst through the door, the wood splintering into the air. It was down the stairs in mere seconds, coming at her with unnatural speed. Hermione wanted to run, but knew that leaving Ick would never be an option. She tore a spear from the wall and threw it with all her might. The thing wobbled and fell short of Hermione's mark, but managed to hit the tail nonetheless. The Lamia screeched in pain. Poor Ick wailed. Hermione would have wailed with her if the situation had not been life or death. She ran back to the wall and grabbed a sword.

It was heavy, but adrenaline aided Hermione where mere strength of arms failed. She heaved it up and bravely faced her opponent.

Blood seeped from the wound in the tail. Furious, the Lamia knocked the spear away and hissed at Hermione. The girl came closer, preparing for battle. The Lamia smiled grotesquely. "Foolish little one, do you think you can defeat me with your bit of metal?"

"I am definitely going to try," Hermione shot back.

The creature lunged, claws at the ready. Hermione dodged, but just barely. Pain ran across her back and side. Blood dripped, but Hermione ignored it, brining the sword in a cross swing that sliced through the flesh of the Lamia's arm. Magic may not have much affect, but mortal weapons could still kill.

Or so she thought until she saw the flesh begin to heal.

And so it went on for what seemed like an eternity. The Lamia would land blows and quickly heal from the ones Hermione inflicted. Hermione knew that she wouldn't last long if this kept up. The terrible moment came when the Lamia sent the sword flying out of Hermione's hand and was going in for the kill.

"_Sectum Sempra!" _Malfoy bellowed. The Lamia cried out as hundreds of lacerations appeared over its body. "_Accio _Hermione!" Malfoy yelled again.

Narcissa was close behind. "_Accio _Vivica!"

Both girls flew through the air toward the stairs. Malfoy caught Hermione to his chest effortlessly and hugged her close only briefly. He quickly sat her down and gave her the wand he'd found. "Mother, protect Ick," he said. The little girl was sobbing and Narcissa hugged her close.

"Where have you been?" Hermione demanded.

"Out for a stroll, what do you think, Granger?" Malfoy shot back. "I've been looking for you! Was it really necessary to cause so much damage to the hall?" Fear and relief made him angry, not the actual damage. "We'll talk about this later," he huffed.

Together they advanced on the ancient creature. She was more furious than ever before, and attacked the duo in a haze of pain and rage. Hermione and Draco hurled curse after curse at it, the loss of blood weakening it. The fact that a Malfoy, it's lord and master, was attacking shifted the advantage in their favor. The Lamia had a built in weakness toward the Malfoy's particular source of magic.

Endless minutes later, Malfoy uttered a final "AVADA KEDAVRA!" With a chilling cry, the Lamia fell to the floor dead.

Breathing hard, Malfoy looked at the creature and tried to get control of his raging emotions.

"Hermione?" Narcissa said behind them. Concern suffused her tone, and not a little alarm. Draco turned sharply. Hermione stood a few feet away, her back to Narcissa. His mother was staring at Hermione's back with a face that was almost as white as Hermione's.

Hermione stood perfectly still. Then her hands began t shake. Then her legs, and then her entire body. "Granger--" Malfoy started, walking towards her.

Hermione's legs gave out. He rushed forward and caught her before she could hit the floor. Hermione cried out as soon as his arms wrapped around her. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Her body sagged.

Alarm shot through him. "Hermione, what's wrong!' Something warm and sticky dribbled on his hand. Malfoy saw the wounds then, deep claw marks that curved around her side. Behind him Ick wailed louder than even when they'd been attacked. "We have to get her to St. Mungo's," he told his mother. "Follow me there."

Narcissa nodded, trying her damnest to comfort the little girl in her arms. "Go."

"Hang on Hermione," he told the girl in his arms. A pop sounded, and the couple disappeared.

* * *

St. Mungo's was in chaos. It wasn't often that a creature said to have been dead for more than a thousand years from Greece suddenly showed up in England and attacked a wandless witch. It was the wee hours of Sunday morning before things were settled. Draco had refused to leave Hermione. Narcissa had gone home at his insistence.

Ick had finally calmed down once she was back in Draco's arms and near Hermione. She stubbornly fought sleep even though he knew she was as exhausted as he was. The three of them had had an eventful evening to be sure.

So while Hermione slept on, Draco enlarged her bed and climbed on top. He got as close as he dared to Hermione without disturbing her. He turned on his side so that he faced her and settled Ick so that she mimicked his pose. She yawned mightily and dropped off in moments. Draco knew he would follow soon. It was just that he wasn't entirely over the emotional roller coaster of the last day. He'd figured out he was in love only to have his lady rush headlong into danger yet again.

Some things never changed.

Except that now Draco had a goal. He was going to wait for Hermione to wake up. He was going to tell her what he knew he should have realized years ago.

He was going to make sure she knew that he wasn't going to just sit back and let her run willy-nilly into danger again.

Then, when all that was settled, he'd ask her about the scars on her back.

The ones that had been there even before the Lamia attacked.

Draco yawned. Yes, all that would start tomorrow. Right next to the beginning of term and their return to school and hopefully normality. No more of this near-drowning, clothes-disappearing, almost killed by a Lamia stuff. He reached for Hermione's hand. Ick was between them, protected and warm. Yes, life would go back to normal tomorrow.

A/N--Ok people, I'd like to credit Gareth's Encyclopedia of Monsters at http/webhome. There really is such a monster as Lamia, although I added a few traits of one called the al, an ancient Babylonian monster that also fed on babies. You can find all of these plus Hippogryphs, boggarts, and Cornish pixies.


	11. Introducing

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N--I scrapped and salvaged Chapter 11 because I didn't like it. It bothered me, so I did something about it and added part of the bit I was working on before. It's different and yet not. Enjoy it!

_**Introducing….**_

Draco bolted upright, looking around wildly. What the--? When had they returned to Hogwarts?

"Welcome to the land of the living, Mr. Malfoy," an all too familiar gravelly voice greeted him. Draco focused in on the Headmaster. Dragon-In-Headmaster's clothing sat serenely to the right of the bed, which Draco had discovered resided in Hogwarts' infirmary. Malfoy was fairly surprised that it hadn't been Madame Pomphrey who'd awakened him. The woman never seemed to pass up an opportunity to cause him any measure of discomfort. "What happened?" he asked Dumbledore, trying to fight of the lingering confusion. Ick remained mercifully asleep next to him.

Dumbledore could barely contain his amusement at the sight of the mighty Malfoy brought so low. Who knew that Draco battled a severe case of bed head every morning? It stuck up at the strangest angles. His clothes were twisted every which way, thoroughly mussed. The old man imagined that the boy before him would rather have died than let anyone see him so human in normal circumstances. Dumbledore realized it wasn't every day someone caught Malfoy sleeping like a baby, with a baby, and _snuggling _with Hermione Granger of all people. It had been rather endearing, actually.

He returned his attention to Malfoy's question. "I thought it would be best if the two of you were returned to the school. Miss Granger is out of danger, and St. Mungo's needed the bed."

Draco ran his hand through his already wild hair. "I need a bath," he muttered to himself.

"You need to do more than that, Mr. Malfoy. You need to gather your books and get to class posthaste," Dumbledore informed him. Draco looked at him, that look of confusion back in his eyes.

"Since when did Hogwarts start having classes on Sunday?" he asked derisively. Dumbledore crooked a smile at him. "They haven't. Today is Monday, Mr. Malfoy. You slept through all of Sunday."

Draco sprang into action. "Son of a skrewt's redheaded stepchild!" he bellowed, leaping from the bed. He ignored Dumbledore's admiration of his rather creative cursing and snatched Ick up. The little girl blinked owlishly at the Headmaster as her father leaned over and shook Hermione's shoulder. "Get up, Hermione, we're late!"

Hermione didn't move. Draco stiffened and narrowed his eyes at the girl. "Hermione?" He shook her once more. Again he received no response. Alarm raced through Draco. Oh, gods, please don't let her be--

"She's fine, Mr. Malfoy." Dumbledore placed a hand on Draco's own shoulder. "She is in no danger, but her body needs time to rest. Hermione has been given a potion to allow her to sleep for a day or two."

Draco wrestled the panic down and strove for a calm tone. "When will she be up?" he asked casually. He didn't want the Headmaster to know about his feelings quite yet.

"By tonight or early tomorrow. Madame Pomphrey had everything in order, Mr. Malfoy. You are free to go to class."

Draco knew an order when he heard one. Damn old Dragon, he thought sourly. "Yes, sir." He turned and made his way out of the infirmary. He cut quite a dashing figure despite the absolute wreck he appeared, Dumbledore thought with a chuckle. He turned back to the girl that lay so still on the bed. "You've got quite a talent for trouble, Hermione. And if Draco Malfoy has realized his feelings for you as I've suspected," he added, "I have a feeling you'll have a whole lot more on your hands."

Malfoy practically ran to his common room. No way in hell he was going to let anyone see him like this! He'd caught sight of himself in the mirror and scared _himself_. He was almost grateful Hermione had slept on. He needed to look his best when he put the plan-he-had-yet-to-devise into action. Not like Medusa's bastard son.

He flew through his portrait seconds later, only to come to a complete and utter halt. _What the hell was going on here? _he thought thunderously. Perhaps he was hallucinating. Or maybe the other common rooms looked identical and they had gotten confused about where they were.

Because he knew, he _just knew_, that every Gryffindor he had ever hated _had not _camped out in his common room with enough food to _LAST THE WINTER _when he was tired, irritated, and **_READY TO KILL SOMEONE_**.

Surely that was not the case.

Hadn't he expressly commanded them to _get the hell out_ when he'd left? But not only had they stayed, the buggers seemed to have multiplied. Weasel, Potter, and Longbottom were strewn about the furniture in deep sleep. There was such a multitude of open and unopened food cast about the place the bastards were obviously planning on bloody _hibernating_ on his couches.

And they had better pray that he was imagining the newest furniture in the room. The interlopers had surely left their cubs at home, not placed the mini-Weasels and an infant he assumed was Longbottom's offspring in a play pen to pile together like the wild animals they behaved like.

But such unholy screeching convinced Malfoy the vision before him was real. Really, Potter needed to get that checked out. Although Malfoy could save him an infirmary visit and just kill the ponce.

That sounded like an excellent idea. He deposited Ick in the play pen, loathing letting her get so close to the Weasel Germs, but needing both arms to dispense justice. He cast the necessary charms that would block any noise disturbing the babies before advancing with deadly intent on the trespassers.

One minute Harry was snoring "peacefully", the next he found himself flung into Ron's arms. Ron, fearing Pansy's return, threw Harry out of his arms again out of instinct and jumped to his feet. Harry hit the floor with a thud, Ron looked about in bewilderment, and Neville lurched out his seat to go for his wand. Malfoy's appeared under the other boy's chin instantly. Neville practically screeched to a halt.

"I could have sworn," Malfoy growled softly, "that I told you to be gone when I got back, Potter."

He looked furious and unkempt. Harry rather thought that it was more unnerving to see the normally perfectly groomed Malfoy out of sorts than to see him angry. "We wanted to make sure that Hermione was alright," he stuttered.

"She's fine." Malfoy withdrew his wand and sheathed it. He tried to smooth his wild bed hair somewhat, but it just sprung back out. "She's in the infirmary for now. Nothing serious." He looked at the boys. "Now that that's out of the way, get your progeny and get the hell out."

He turned with a dramatic flip of his mussed robes and was about to collect Ick when Ron piped up. "Um, actually, we were kind of hoping we could stay here."

Malfoy halted. Slowly, he turned. "Come again?"

Ron's eyebrow rose even though a slight blush stained his cheeks. "We want to stay here for a while."

Malfoy blinked. "As in…?"

Harry decided now was a good time to jump in. "You see, Ron's feeling a bit…overwhelmed by Pansy. He thought he could hang out with Hermione while they adjusted to one another."

Neville looked a little nervous. "What's your excuse, Longbottom?" Malfoy bit out. The other boy drew himself up and looked Malfoy right in the eye. His voice was very clear when he said, "Millicent likes me."

"WHAT!" Malfoy bellowed. What lunacy was this?

Neville reacted as though Malfoy had confirmed his own thoughts. "Exactly!" he burst out. "She told me that she'd liked me for a long time, but I needed to buck up my courage. Now that the war's over she says it's the perfect time to make her move." He looked terrified. And well he should, Malfoy thought to himself dazedly. Pansy and Millicent had the well-deserved reputations in Slytherin for being of rather…._forceful_ inclinations. They always got what they wanted.

Contrary to the rumor mill, it had very little to do with sex. As a matter of fact, not even the admittedly attractive Draco had managed to convince Pansy to let him do more than kiss her. But if she or Millicent wanted a new jewel….a dog…._Persia_ even, it was only a matter of time…..

If he'd been Neville, he would have run a lot farther than the Head Common Room….

The clock chimed the hour. "Buggering ponces!" he barked out. "I'm late!"

* * *

Students parted like the Dead Sea to allow Malfoy to sweep by. Thanks to a few grooming charms Draco felt better and looked better than decent. He snarled at a few Hufflepuff second years to boost his morale just that much more. They cowered and scattered, which pleased him to no end.

Even as they scurried out of his way, the witches of Hogwarts school eyed him with blatant appreciation. His robes were pressed, his blonde hair was perfect, and he was damn handsome on top of that.

Having an extremely adorable little girl riding shotgun didn't hurt one bit, either.

Malfoy shifted his books in one arm and Ick in the other as he headed for his first class of the day. Whispers and fingers pointing followed his progress. Ick was dressed in a miniature version of Slytherins uniform, from little robes to the tiny Mary Janes. Draco had come upon this brilliant idea sometime while fixing his hair. Hermione wouldn't approve, but Draco found the little green tie a vast improvement over the ridiculous red and gold outfit his mother had picked. His little girl looked better in Slytherin's colors, thanks very much.

Ick looked at everyone and everything. She seemed to soak up the attention as though it were only her due. "Great attitude, Ick," he whispered in her little ear approvingly. She giggled at the brush of his breath on her soft skin. "Get used to the attention, command it, and you've got it made."

"Oy, Neville," Ron said from behind Draco. "Let me know if you see Pansy, ok?" Neville gave his assent on the condition Ron do the same for him in regards to Millicent. Draco rolled his mercurial eyes. His own command seemed to be slipping, if his entourage gave any indication. The buggers were still on his tail, amazingly having the same class schedule as he today. Damnit.

He swept into the classroom with aplomb and headed for Blaise Zabini. His best friend looked up from his book. His handsome jaw dropped. "What the hell is that?" he demanded.

Draco tossed his books down. "That," he drawled, "is Ick. My-" He stopped. What did he call her? "She's my daughter."

Daughter. Now that was a scary word. Beside him Blaise shook his head. "Never thought I'd see the day."

Draco couldn't help but agree. "Here, Blaise, hold her for a second." He plopped the little infant in the other boy's lap without further ado. Blaise stared at Ick like she had suddenly grown another head and a few extra teeth while Draco straightened himself out. Malfoy couldn't help but smile at the sigh from a group of Ravenclaw girls when he pushed his robe out of the way and showed his bum. A few more adjustments and Malfoy sat, supremely pleased. Hermione was going to be one of those kind of girls, he vowed silently. Until then he would take the poor substitute.

Ick had busied herself playing with Blaise's tie. She wasn't shy at all, and Blaise seemed to have relaxed. He did have little brothers and sisters, Malfoy recalled belatedly. Blaise was noticing Ick's outfit. "Nice choice. Can't imagine how you put it passed Granger."

"She doesn't know," Malfoy admitted. Blaise grinned in understanding. He looked around for her. "Where is the mother of future Malfoys, anyway?"

Malfoy very briefly described the last 48 hours to his friend, ignoring the chortling with what he thought of as award winning restraint. An idea hit him seconds before class began. "Hey, Zabini. You've dated Muggleborns, haven't you?" It had been a fact that many Slytherins had targeted Zabini for in years past. Or at least they had until Blaise had reminded them of the qualities that made him Slytherin, Malfoy thought with a grimace. Blaise was watching him closely. "Finally figured it out, have you?" he commented quietly.

It bothered the bloody dickens out of him that Blaise knew about his feelings, but Malfoy forged on. "Well, do you think you could help me?" he demanded.

Blaise shrugged with Italian flair. "You got it, my friend."

The day went rather smoothly after that. For the most part, anyway. Somewhere around Snape's class he'd realized that he'd neglected to provide Ick with any toys to occupy herself with. It was the first cauldron to be melted that year, and it hadn't even been Longbottom's fault. Ick thought it was funny, though. So did everyone else, much to Snape's glowering displeasure.

Lunch was a much welcomed event. Pansy didn't sit with Ron, not surprisingly. The twins, who had set a few creatures loose in Hagrid's class, stayed with Weasel and Potter. Neville was no where to be found, but then neither was Millicent, which explained a lot. That strange girl Luna sat away from her partner as well. Malfoy noticed the dirty looks the boy cast in her direction.

It bothered him. Nobody knew it, but he'd always found Luna a bit fascinating. The way one would find dragons fascinating really. You admired from afar but never got too close in case they decided to fry your bum. Now Luna had a little girl named Hazel, and Alfred apparently couldn't be persuaded to get within ten feet of the pair. Draco grimly made a mental note to remind Alfred of his parental responsibilities.

Ick was a hit with the Slytherins. The girls fussed over her little outfit, and even the boys studied her carefully. She sat on the table before Malfoy and fed him the bits of food she was supposed to be eating, making a mess of his face. Somehow Malfoy didn't mind all that much. After that she was passed from Slytherin to Slytherin under his careful watch so that he would have time to eat. By the end of the meal Ick was declared to be the smartest baby in existence. Malfoy had scoffed that he'd already known that. She was a Malfoy, was she not? And her mother was no mental slouch, either. Good genes, that's what.

It was at the end of the day when Malfoy was hit by a particularly difficult problem. It was the first Quidditch practice of the year. What was he supposed to do with Ick? Hermione hadn't awakened yet when he had visited her the moment classes had ended. Potter and Weasel were off on prefects' duties that Malfoy had discovered already divvied by Hermione.

Which meant that she had done it Saturday night, rendering the entire episode of sneaking to Dragonmaster's office unnecessary. Oh, but they were going to talk about this one, he swore to himself.

But back to the situation at hand. Where was he going to put Ick?

* * *

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape drawled, his hands tightly clasped behind his back. "What is that on your robes?"

Malfoy looked back and shrugged at the professor. "That would be a baby," he said innocently. Ick giggled and almost ruined the moment before Malfoy restrained his smile.

One dark eyebrow raised to an equally dark hairline.

Malfoy was dressed in his Quidditch robes. In itself that was completely unremarkable. What was cause for comment, however, was the baby pack strapped to his back. In it Ick was dressed in another miniature version of her father's clothing, looking ready for a good rousing Quidditch practice. All she was missing, Snape thought caustically, was a little broom to ride. "Babysitting difficulties, Mr. Malfoy?"

His student grinned. "You could say that."

"You are aware that you cannot possibly participate with the child on your back? It would render difficult broom riding foolhardy."

Malfoy nodded as he made to pass the head of his house. "I'm staying on the ground for this practice, Professor," he replied calmly. "If you'll excuse me, we'll be late if we don't hurry."

Snape said nothing but simply stepped aside. The little girl waved at him before the pair disappeared around the corner. Snape could only shake his head.

Practice went fantastically for Malfoy. His bunch were great players, not that he'd ever tell them that, and Ick seemed enthralled with every aspect of the game. Malfoy was riding high when he returned to the common room, certain that the book _25 Ways to Romance Your Muggleborn Sweetheart_ that Blaise had given him meant that the week was only going to get better.

_

* * *

Why him? Malfoy mentally groaned. __How in the world had it come to this_?Malfoy mentally groaned. ? 

Draco stared at the realigned Gryffindor Trio. It was Monday night, and not only were the three intruders still in possession of all vital body parts, but they were actually staying the night as requested. Malfoy half expected the walls of Hogwarts to crumble and Severus Snape singing "You Are My Sunshine" any moment. It was just that fantastic a concept that these boys would be his guests.

He'd felt _sorry _for the pea-brains. Well, for the Weasel and Longbottom anyway. Given that Potter wasn't actually in the Future Parents Program, there wasn't a real reason for him to be there other than he and the Redheaded Wonder seemed like a package deal. If you took in one stray dog, you got the bloody pack, so to speak.

He looked down at Ick. And now this. He'd thought he'd gotten a grip on things, and suddenly Ick had demanded more attention from him than he'd ever imagined himself giving.

She needed to be changed.

Malfoy wanted to run.

From the looks on the other three, he wasn't the only one. Even Weasel looked a little trepidous. All of them stood in front of a wriggling baby (Potter had one of the twins), who lay on the table as though they were not about to severely alter the worlds of four young men. Little buggers. Except Ick, of course. She was the only blameless one, being a Malfoy and therefore in need of more care than the other three.

"According to Malfoy's mum's book," Neville said, holding the text in one hand and a nappy in the other, "we have to undo the nappy they're wearing first." He looked down in barely concealed horror at the little boy (who was named Marshall, by the by). The Weasel twins (Patrick and Henry) laughed in almost evil childlike humor. For some reason Potter had been muttering some nonsense like, "Give me liberty or give me death" ever since he'd heard the twins' names. He'd started sniggering and hadn't stopped since.

Too many hits with the Bludger, that one.

Nobody seemed to want to make the first move. They all sort of looked at each other dumbly for a few moments before Malfoy decided to take the role of leader and threw his shoulders back. "Alright, lads, we're being ridiculous here. What's to be afraid of? Other than the stench," he put in quickly just as Ron was about to interject.

He looked around. "Well? Nothing, that's what! We're bigger, stronger, and smarter than they are. We've survived worse than nappies before."

The other three didn't look convinced. "Like what?" Neville asked dubiously.

What, indeed. "Well," Malfoy said while he wracked his brain quickly. "Snape?" That caught Neville's attention. "Voldemort?" Harry perked up. What was the Weasel afraid of…… "Pansy!"

Right on target. Ron considered Patrick with the concentration usually reserved for Quidditch statistics and escaping his mother. Suddenly he sucked in a deep breath (not the best course of action, considering the noxious fumes floating about) and reached for the nappy.

* * *

He was never, ever doing that again, Malfoy resolved several harrowing minutes later.

He would feed, bathe, dress, and worship the little girl from here on out, but Hermione was taking over nappy duty. What the hell had she fed the child, anyway? Gods, he needed a bath after that debacle. Apparently Ick had developed potty humor and decided peeing on him after being freshly changed was funny.

He blamed the mini-Weasels, personally. Their rough breeding was infecting Ick.

So now the swimming pool was charmed into a giant bath, and the four young men and accompanying children currently occupied the shallow end. Malfoy never thought he'd see the day when he'd be half naked with a bunch of Gryffindors, much less _male _Gryffinndors.

This weekend was definitely not going his way. Malfoy dreaded when school actually got started. Then he'd have classes, Quidditch practices, Head Boy duties, a seduction/courting period to plan, and meals in the Great Hall. Combine that with a comatose partner who wasn't even in the same house with him…Malfoy rubbed his temple.

Not one month ago he'd been a carefree teenager with nothing more on his mind then his next riding broom and the occasional fling. Now he was a father, wanted to be a lover, and had no clue how to go about either. Although he supposed it could be worse. He could have had Millicent after him.

Malfoy smirked evilly at Longbottom, who regarded him with unease over his child's head.

Actually, the more he listened to the other three talk, Malfoy found Longbottom wasn't nearly as stupid as he had supposed him to be. Seems he was a bit more intimidating to the formerly- gangly lad then he'd thought. Even the Neville didn't stutter nearly as much when he spoke to Malfoy those few times as he once had. Miracle of miracles, somewhere along the way Longbottom had grown a spine.

_He'd better pray Millicent never found that out_, Malfoy thought, his smirk widening.

Ron broke the silence. "You know, Malfoy, it's rather sporting of you to let us stay here. What with all that stuff that happened during school."

Draco shrugged. "I figure you'll owe me." Ron looked like he wasn't too sure how to take that. Harry tried to sooth him by commenting, "There are worse things than owing Malfoy, mate."

"Yeah," Ron said with a shudder. "Like Pansy."

Malfoy held Ick away so she could kick her legs in the water more freely. She looked pretty cute in the little yellow Muggle bathing suit Potter had conjured. Whyever the hell Potter knew things about baby outfits, Malfoy was _not _going to ask. "Hey," he grunted at Ron. "Pans is not a bad sort."

The three Gryffinndors snorted derisively in unison. Did the ponces practice in front of mirrors or something? "Spoken like a fellow Slytherin," Harry said offhandedly.

"Listen, you gits. Slytherin's credo is 'cunning', not 'evil incarnate' ," Malfoy defended.

"Not a single dark witch or wizard that wasn't in Slytherin," Ron shot back.

Malfoy merely shrugged. "So some of us like to get a bit more creative than others. I find the Dark Arts rather fascinating myself." He raised an eyebrow at the scoffing three. "Lot to be said for those arts. You don't see any giant spiders picking on me, now do you, Weasel?" he asked haughtily.

"He's got a bit of a point," Neville said. He swished Marshall back and forth in the water as he said this. The infant laughed.

Malfoy snorted as he sat on the edge of the pool and held Ick between his legs. The boys wore something Potter called 'swimming trunks'. What trees had to do with anything, Malfoy wasn't sure. Looked like boxers to him. Illogical Muggles. "Ha! Bit of a point, my arse. The thing about the Dark Arts," he explained to the simpletons, "It's not about the actual arts themselves until you're left with no alternative. It's the _reputation _you get from just knowing about the more creative side of magic that _really _matters. No one messes with you because they understand that you're capable of a lot more than you're average wizard. Look at me," he said. He gestured at himself. "All I have to really do is stand there and sneer, and the world is my oyster."

Ron blinked at him. "You bloody faker," he said at last in an amazed tone.

"Don't get me wrong, Weasel. I can back up anything I say. My point is that I just don't usually have too."

_I wonder how Hermione's doing? Has she awakened? Did she see all the flowers I sent?_ Draco's inner voice piped up suddenly.

_Well, wasn't that random? Just because you're in love with the wench doesn't mean you have permission to go all gooey over her and suddenly miss her all the time…Have some dignity!_ Really. The nerve. He'd lose his reputation for sure if anyone found out.

_Excuse me, _we _are in love with that wench! And didn't some Muggle once say something like 'pride goeth before the fall'_?

_What the bloody hell does that mean? _Draco asked himself incredulously.

_Not sure, but it sounded appropriate at the time._

_You've lost it for sure._

_Oh? And who is talking to themselves, may I ask?_

Draco blinked. Ye gods, the inner voice was right. He'd gone barkin'.

Neville's eyes went wide. "Ye gods!" he breathed.

Malfoy's brow arched. "I told you, it's not that-" A sultry voice laced with pure steel stopped him dead in his syllables.

"So this is where you've run off too, Neville darling."

Malfoy began to realize that it wasn't inside look into the world of popularity that held Longbottom's attention so absolutely…

* * *

A lot of people thought of Luna Lovegood as a loony. Most even called her that instead of her real name, not always out of her earshot. She didn't exactly go with the flow of the masses. She tended to dress strangely, believed in a lot of things other people didn't, and didn't go about fighting back when someone did her wrong.

That was ok, she supposed. She may not have fashion sense, but there was a reason she was in Ravenclaw. She wasn't stupid by any means. And as for what people thought of her ideas, well, there had been a time when people who could see Thestrals were considered insane. Normal was a relative thing, you know.

As for fighting back….what was the point? Whoever thought it was a jolly joke to steal her things and make fun of her would tire of the game a lot faster than if she hexed them in revenge.

So when Alfred Blankenship refused after a night of intense verbal abuse to have anything to do with her offspring, Luna had simply taken the new baby and left.

She had been wondering the halls for hours, unsure of where to go. She could have gone to Hermione's common room, but if she knew those other Gryffindors, they would be cluttering up the place in minutes. Not exactly a quiet atmosphere to have a civil conversation in. More like Bedlam.

So she sat down on a bench in one of the least used hallways and contemplated the baby. She looked a lot like Luna, except for her hair. Instead of Luna's dirty blonde hair, the baby had rich black hair. Blue eyes twinkled a bit like the Headmaster's at her while little Hazel cuddled against her serenely. Luna was thoroughly enchanted.

"Such a pretty little girl," she cooed with a soft smile. "Mummy's little angel."

Unlike her fellow participants, Luna actually knew what she was doing when it came to babies. Her own mother had passed away when Luna was small, but her multitude of aunts had done their best to immerse her in the family. That included her infinite number of cousins. It was actually her aunts that were responsible for Luna's unusual image. They followed what Muggles called Wiccan magic, very earthy and at odds with the ever modernizing magic practices by today's wizarding youth. Knowing that she wasn't as alone as everyone thought gave Luna that envied air of serenity.

But she had to admit that even she was startled when Neville Longbottom suddenly burst through a portrait that Luna hadn't been aware was a portal dressed in nothing but a pair of wet shorts. He held a tot in his own arms and didn't even acknowledge his friend before spinning to the left and sprinted down the hall. Suddenly Draco Malfoy followed him, but not in pursuit as Luna briefly thought. "Longbottom, you coward! Wait for me!" he shouted after Neville. Ron Weasley and Harry Potter crowded the portrait right behind him. They each carried a child and wore an outfit identical to Neville's.

Luna gaped. Even an unusual girl like herself could appreciate the extremely beautiful creatures before her in half-naked glory. "Run, Malfoy!" Ron cried out.

Harry grinned at Luna. "Hi, Luna!" A peculiar call that sounded like 'yyyyyyyyooooooooooowhooooooooooooo' sounded behind him. "Bye Luna!" he called over his shoulder while he ran off after the other two. Just when things couldn't have become stranger (even to Luna), who should appear in front of her but Millicent Bulstrode. She was dressed in such beautiful finery Luna was momentarily struck speechless. A Chinese silk green dress embroidered with serpents and matching stiletto heels complemented the awesome emeralds that decorated her throat and ears. "Oh, Neville, darling! You can't run forever!"

She whipped out her wand and conjured a broom. Sitting side saddle, she continued to give chase in true witch's fashion, her brown hair streaming in the wind.

What was a girl supposed to do now? Luna pondered this for only a nanosecond before deciding. Follow them, off course. This as too good to pass up.

She conjured her own broom and a baby pack to put Hazel in, trailing behind the teenagers moments later.

The boys were running full speed ahead, determined to get out of this in one piece. Draco was only following because he wanted to make sure nobody got hurt. He wasn't the least bit afraid of Iron-will Bulstrode. No sir. Her threats to dismember the lot of them for housing Neville like a fugitive had no effect on him whatsoever.

A hex barely missed him and hit the wall far too close to his head. _Where the hell was Hermione when he needed her! _

And just as things couldn't have gotten worse, here came the Slytherins.

A large group of them stood about the hall as if they had nothing better to do than loiter about directly in the boys' path. Pansy turned and gaped at the stampeding Ron. "Weasley?" she gasped when he skidded to a halt before her. She zeroed in on Ronald's chest as if bewitched. "When did you get muscles?" she stuttered inanely.

"Pansy!" Ron cried. "Am I glad to see you!" He pushed Patrick into her hands. "You've got to take the babies for a minute, ok? Bulstrode's on the war path!"

Harry seemed to think this was all a great game, for he kissed Pansy's cheek when he pressed the other baby into her arms. "Sorry I couldn't stick around. We're marked men, you know." He grinned. Draco slapped him upside the head. "Are you daft, man? Bulstrode's gunning for the parts that make you male and you're just standing around like a dolt! Run already! Hang on to Ick for me, Blaise," he ordered his best friend before speeding off. "Drop her and you die!" he shouted over his shoulder.

One Slytherin boy snickered at Pansy just as Ron was about to follow. "I guess you finally decided to open up your legs for somebody, Parkinson." He started to laugh…right before Ron spun around and planted a ferocious facer that sent the other boy crashing to the ground. Other Slytherins leapt out of the way. Ron stood over the boy and glowered at him in fury. "Don't ever talk about her like that again, you little snot," he snarled. Everyone stared at him in awe. No one had ever seen Weasley in such a …..alpha male stance. Pansy couldn't seem to take in the fact that Ronald Weasley of the Golden Trio was defending her honor.

A witch's laugh interrupted the confrontation. Ron looked over his shoulder to see Bulstrode zooming down the hall. He pointed at the boy, his other fist clenched. "Remember what I said, or I'll beat you bloody next time." With one last look of warning, he left.

Pansy watched him go. Really, who saw that one coming?

It was the Hagrid who ended up saving them. Millicent had cornered them in the Great Hall and was about to turn Ronald into a fluffy bunny and Malfoy into the serpent when the gigantic professor had appeared and plucked Bulstrode right out of the air. It was really something to see, what with Millicent hanging from the back of her dress like Hagrid was offering a hanky. She wasn't nearly as amused as Harry was. Then again, the lot of them combined would never be as amused as that one.

Malfoy was beginning to wonder about him. What had gotten into the ponce?

* * *

Draco now glowered at the mirror Dumbledore had designated to be the participants' journals. He sneered into the shiny surface as it recorded. "Since the beginning of this whole fiasco, I've been going through some kind of torturous test of determination and endurance that only a certain crackpot Headmaster and my flippin' mother could engineer. The mother of my child is now in hospital. Ick has become adopted by almost the whole of Slytherin house. They insist Ick is the future leader of their house and are on the verge of reproducing just so they can provide her with followers."

He gestured widely. "I of course knew all of this already, but who the hell wants the Slytherins going at it like rabbits all the time?" He ended the brief entry by recounting his experiences with Ick. The barbarous episode of nappy changing aside, Malfoy felt that he'd made significant progress in one day. He hadn't dropped the baby once. But now he had better things to do.

He had a Gryffindor to capture, er _court_. Malfoy tossed the mirror out of the way in favor for his latest acquisition, _25 Ways to Romance Your Muggleborn Sweetheart_. Hopefully this one would do better than that rubbish _Super Condensed Psychological Theories and You_. Although if he really thought about it that book was actually somewhat, in a very miniscule way, right about him and his displacement.

He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one who'd mastered mind-reading was behind him. Bad enough he'd admitted it to himself.

There was no one else in the common room. Neville had gone to ground since the Millicent incident. Ronald had crashed on Hermione's bed for the time being. Malfoy wasn't too sure where Potter was, but figured he was better off without the bedlamite about. Ick was still in the clutches of the Slytherins, and likely wouldn't surface for several hours.

Draco stroked his chin in thought as he contemplated the book's cover. Hermione liked books. Maybe he should start his campaign off by making sure he was the first thing she saw when she woke up. Never mind that the blessed event wouldn't happen for at least 24 more hours. He shrugged to himself. He had time.


	12. Rest In Peace

Disclaimer: I don't own Draco, Hermione, or anyone else.

_**Rest in Peace**_

Michael.

Hermione blinked. What was Michael doing in Hogwarts' infirmary?

The young wizard looked up from the book in his lap. Relief and happiness washed over his handsome face. A brilliant smile revealed fine white teeth. "Hello, love," he breathed. He rose from the chair, book forgotten, and strode to her bedside. He clasped her hand in his quickly and squeezed.

"What are you doing here?" she gasped. She was both surprised and delighted to see the boy who had come to mean so much to her over the summer. Hermione squeezed his hand back. "You weren't here when I woke up earlier!" she exclaimed. Michael sat on the bed, completely comfortable with the diminished personal space. Hermione couldn't help but admire him for what seemed like the hundredth time. He was the perfect boy, she thought to herself. He was as tall and built as Malfoy, with Ron's loyalty and heart, and Harry's good nature. Michael and Harry shared green eyes as well, but Michael's were more of a forest color than jade.

His hair was to die for. It was a lush brown, long enough to tie in a queue, thick enough to put Hermione's to shame. She fancied that Michael might have been a gentleman pirate in a past life. Hermione could easily see him swashbuckling his way across the seas.

His Scottish accent didn't hurt one bit, either, she thought with a chuckle.

"So you're well enough to smile. That's good. I was envisioning you lying on your death bed when I heard the news."

Hermione glared at him in pretend ire. "I'm not a wilting flower," she told him crisply. She sat up. "I'm tough. See?" She flexed nonexistent muscles in imitation of a manly primp. Michael gave a pleasing bark of laughter. Hermione would be lying if she said it didn't send warm fuzzies rushing through her.

Ok, she admitted it. She'd developed a little crush on Michael during the summer. How could she not? He'd been her rock when she'd been displaced and needed someone more than ever.

The Summer of Terror had had a deep effect on Hermione. The very day after sixth year ended, Dumbledore had confronted her with the bald facts.

Voldemort had set a formal bounty on her and Ron, in addition to Harry.

She remembered sitting in Dumbledore's office with her parents, watching Dumbledore in silence. Her parents had been stunned and upset. It had never really sunk in just how real this Voldemort character was. How dangerous he was to their very unusual child. Dumbledore's trademark eye twinkle had been no where in evidence that day. "Voldemort does not simply fear Harry," he told them firmly. "He has become obsessed with the destruction of the Golden Trio itself. He has realized that the three of you represent a body. Mr. Weasley represents the heart. Harry has become symbolic of the soul. You, Hermione, are the mind. As a body functions, so do you three. Without one, the other two cannot exist."

Hermione could not argue. The bond she and the boys shared defied logic, relying on emotion rather than reason. They were close enough that only death could separate them.

Voldemort intended to wield the scythe that severed them.

So Hermione, Ron, and Harry had gone to ground. Her parents had been hidden in an undisclosed location far from their daughter. They still hadn't returned, even with the war ended. Deep inside, Hermione admitted that she was afraid Voldemort had found a way to them. That they were dead. The snake-like bastard would have delighted in tormenting Hermione with the anxiety of wondering if her parents lived.

Hermione remembered how alone and lonely she'd been when she arrived at the safe house in Scotland. It had been necessary, but it had hurt her badly to be cut off from the rest of the world. She'd buried herself in creating and perfecting potions for the cause, or gobbling up any information that might help.

Then Michael had arrived.

It had been at his family estate that Hermione had hidden. He had befriended her immediately and tried to fill in the void as best as he could. Hermione would be forever grateful to him for that.

A hand waved in front of her face. "Hermione?" Michael chuckled. "You ok, lass?"

Hermione shook her head to clear it. "Just spacing out,' she said apologetically. She placed the pillow behind her to support her back better. "You never told me why you're here. Don't tell me you skipped school just to come and see me?" Michael went to a private school in Scotland.

He shook his head. "No, lovely Hermione, I didn't." He pointed at a crest on his robes Hermione hadn't paid attention to before. "I transferred at the last moment. Didn't even make the Sorting Ceremony."

Hermione squinted. "You're a _Ravenclaw_?" she gasped.

Michael nodded, his eyes twinkling. "I told you I was smart," he teased.

"Smart enough to be a Hogwarts student, that's for sure," Hermione concurred.

Michael shrugged. "I decided I needed a change," he said offhandedly. His green eyes refocused and he became more serious. He watched her intently. "And maybe I needed to finish a few things as well," he continued softly.

_He's staring at my lips!_ Hermione realized suddenly. He leaned in. Hermione watched as Michael got close enough for their breathes to mingle.

_He wants to kiss me._ A thrill and something else flitted through her. A vision of Malfoy defending her against Lamia suddenly appeared in her mind's eye. Hermione's eyes widened in horror. Angry at the unexpected intrusion, she ruthless shoved the image away. Why in heaven's name had she thought of _him_?

Michael was so close…Did she want to kiss him?

_Why _wouldn't _you want to kiss him?_ a little voice insider her whispered faintly.

Yes, why not? _Close your eyes, Hermione. Stop thinking._ Her lids drifted shut. She started to close the distance…

"May I ask what the _fuck_ you think you are doing?" a cold, furious voice growled with barely restrained violence.

Hermione froze. Her startled brown eyes swung to the door just as Michael turned to confront the intruder.

Malfoy looked ready to kill, Hermione thought belatedly.

---------------------------------------------

Draco's fists clenched. His breathing became labored. Instead of moving away from Hermione, this new bastard moved in closer as if he wanted to protect her. Draco was sure that the image of mere moments ago would be forever burned in his brain. Over and over he saw the scene.

He'd wanted to spend time with her, to plan his courtship with care and precision while he watched her sleep. Instead he'd swung through the doors to find Hermione wide awake, seconds away from snogging some stranger. Rage like Malfoy had never known before swept through him. The air around him crackled with emotion and magic. He was sure even his hair stood on end with energy.

His teeth bared, he approached the bed. With each step he took his anger seemed to grow. It made his blood boil. His ears buzzed. He couldn't hear the words that spilled out of Hermione's mouth. The muscles in his arms got tighter and tighter until the urge to tear something apart became unbearable. Later when he had calmed he would wonder if this wasn't in fact the rage that seemed to be Lucius' driving force in life.

The other boy stood up straight. "Listen, whoever you are-"

Draco swung with deadly precision. The first blow landed on the boy's face somewhere. He didn't waste any time wondering where, Draco simply followed one blow with another and then another. The famous Malfoy control was gone, leaving a violent alpha male intent on punishing the interloper for his transgressions. Transgressions for what, Hermione had yet to find out, but oh, she would learn, Malfoy promised himself.

Hermione swung her legs over the bed. "Michael!" she cried out. The one called Michael sat on the floor and clutched his jaw, staring incredulously up at a furious Malfoy. His silver eyes gleamed with fury and jealousy.

Michael narrowed his eyes. "What the hell was that about!" he shouted at Malfoy.

"Sit down!" Draco barked at Hermione harshly. He pointed imperiously at the bed. Astonished, Hermione sat without thinking. "Don't get up again. You aren't well enough." He turned to the boy on the floor. "And you," he ground out. "You ever touch her again, and I'll kill you."

It was a promise, one he was fully capable of carrying out.

Michael had the blood of Highlanders flowing in his veins. No bloody Englishman was going to issue orders to _him_. He got slowly to his feet and stared Malfoy in the eye. "You act like you have some kind of claim," he bit out. "I know for a fact Hermione isn't involved with anyone." He challenged Malfoy without words.

Draco wasn't one to turn down a gauntlet. He drew himself straight. He cloaked himself in haughty arrogance and stated in an imperious tone, "She is now." He ignored the gasp of surprise from Hermione's direction. "Hermione Granger is _mine_, and no-bloody-body is touching her but me. Understand?"

It wasn't the situation he'd envisioned in his head, but it got the point across. Both Hermione and the bastard Michael gaped at him. "I'm tired of looking at you." Draco swept his hand out. "Go."

Hermione watched in disbelief as Michael vanished. Wandless magic! She leapt to her feet and dashed forward. Draco snagged her about the waist easily. "Where did he go?" Hermione shouted furiously. She tried to hit him. Draco didn't flinch. He simply caught her hands and pressed them to her back, rendering her helpless. "How dare you?" Hermione cried.

Draco snarled. "How dare I?" He thrust his face into hers. His eyes swirled with unnatural forces. "You go around kissing strangers, and you question _my _actions?"

Hermione refused to be cowed. "He's not a stranger, not that it's any of your business. He's a very dear friend of mine and I demand to know what you've done to him." She twisted, trying to free her hands from his grip.

He held her easily. Damn those Quidditch muscles! "Your friend is fine. He just found himself stark naked in the library, that's all," he said with obvious relish.

"Oh, my god!" Hermione could only imagine the humiliation. "You evil bastard!" she snapped. She tried to stomp on his feet.

"Don't push it, Hermione," Draco warned. "I'm already on the edge."

"Don't threaten me, you oversized Albino gorilla---MMMMMMMMMMMMMM!" Hermione screamed into Draco's lips.

_Draco Malfoy was kissing her_.

Hermione reeled mentally. Malfoy was kissing her, and in a way Hermione hadn't known one could kiss. He shifted so that one hand could cup the back of her head and still her thrashing. His eyes were closed.

His lips swept over her own with intent to conquer. They pressed themselves into hers so that the memory of their imprint would linger. He sucked her bottom lip between his and ran his tongue over it before quickly repeating the action with her top lip. Seconds later he slanted his mouth in the other direction and did it again. It was like he wanted to leave a bit of himself behind. Like he wanted her to remember what this felt like for the rest of her life. Like he wanted her to know that he would be around so that she couldn't forget.

He poured passion into that kiss. He pressed his desire into her, both physically and emotionally, rubbing his arousal into her abdomen.

Hermione opened her mouth to protest--he delved inside with his tongue.

Hermione was beginning to feel dizzy. The other kisses she'd received had never been like this. Quick, closed mouthed kisses that left one feeling warm. Not this all-consuming emotion fest! Spots appeared in front of her eyes.

Hermione suddenly sagged in Malfoy's arms, breaking the contact. The last thing she heard was Malfoy shouting, "You idiot! You're not supposed to hold your breath while you kiss…!"

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Malfoy was a dead man.

Hermione glared evilly at a group of second years. The students, who had been caught staring, scattered almost immediately. It would have satisfied her if they hadn't been giggling when they did it. The entire school was laughing at her, and there was nothing she could do about it.

After the humiliating fainting episode, Hermione had awakened back in the common room. Malfoy had been nowhere in sight, but there had been quite a bit of food in living area and at least two new additions to the suite. She hadn't mentioned anything to Ron or Neville about the oddity of their situation. Hermione figured they would tell her when they were ready.

Not that the rumor mill hadn't already filled her in five minutes after rejoining the living.

Damn gossipmongers! Damn Malfoy! Damn, damn, damn!

Even swearing mentally (something she didn't normally do) didn't relieve her frustration. Because once she'd heard what the rumor mill was talking about, Hermione had realized that only Malfoy's blood would assuage her.

Draco Malfoy had claimed her as his girlfriend.

Not his lover, not his friend, not his personal toy to torment for being less than pure. His bloody girlfriend. Not only that, but he'd warned off any and all potential suitors with threats of death and creative dismemberment. Not necessarily in that order.

Hermione wasn't sure what had happened to Malfoy or his logic, but whatever it was, she was going to do something about it. How dare he? He had basically stuck a flag with the Malfoy crest emblazoned upon it in her and declared, "I claim this mountain!" What was she, an acre of land? No! And he wasn't going to get away with this, either.

He was going to wish he were dead when she was through with him!

She pointed at a nearby Slytherin. "You there!" The girl froze like a deer in Muggle headlights. Eyes wide, she watched the venerable Gryffindor Princess approach her with all the finesse of a raging giant, breathing and huffing in indignant anger. "Where's Malfoy?" Hermione bit out.

The girl gulped. No one had ever seen Granger like this. "He's in the Slytherin common room. With your daughter," she replied in some semblance of a normal tone.

Sneaky little snark, Hermione thought darkly. Hiding out from her. "Take me to him."

The girl didn't argue. One, she was afraid. Two, this was going to be interesting. She lead Hermione in a complicated, roundabout journey to Slytherin's dungeons, unaware that Hermione was well aware of where the room was. She simply needed the password to get in.

The common room was a much more somber version of Gryffindor Tower. That was all that Hermione registered as she bustled through, intent on finding Malfoy and committing bodily harm in return for having the audacity to kiss her.

She didn't expect him to be asleep on the couch, Ick cradled tenderly on his chest. She drew to an utter halt.

They looked so right together, she thought. Her heart swelled with a tender emotion at the sight. Malfoy looked peaceful for once, a small smile playing at his lips. Hermione had never pegged him for one to let his guard down in front of anyone, not even his own classmates.

She looked around. Then again, no one was there but them. The girl who had brought her had disappeared almost immediately after seeing Malfoy asleep. Hermione supposed he had threatened anyone who saw him that way in addition to laying claim to someone without even asking.

Bloody git. Bloody, stupid, handsome git.

May he rest in peace, she thought resolutely as she approached him with deadly intent.

A/N- Yes, I realize that some of you find it unbelievable that Hermione wouldn't realize that you're supposed to breath through your nose while you French kiss…I wouldn't find it believable either….if it hadn't happened to me during my first kiss! Yes, yes, yes, laugh at the then naïve 17 year old (I'm 20 now), but it's the honest to God truth. My best friends keep a log of my life's stories, no joke. As Erin puts it, "It's funny because it's true!"


	13. Dragon's Breath

Disclaimer: I don't own a blasted thing but Ick and my plot, thanks very much.

_**Dragon's Breath**_

Disjointed thoughts broke through Hermione's anger. The closer she got, the louder they became. _How dare Draco, er _Malfoy_, do that to me_? She liked Michael, and she had every right to snog whomever she wished.

_Malfoy must have hit his head somewhere in the fight with Lamia._

She did like Michael right?

Malfoy couldn't simply turn around and declare to all and sundry she was his girlfriend. _He could have at least asked first._ No, wait, she would have said no anyway. _Bloody git didn't understand that enemies for the better part of six years did not suddenly fall in-- get involved romantically! _Why in heaven's name did that word suddenly pop in her head? Such an emotion was about as close to what she felt for Malfoy as Luna was to being stodgy.

Malfoy couldn't do this to her! How dare he make such an about face, and for what reason? _No good ones, that's what!_ She needed the normality of their hatred for one another, _blast him to Hades._ Her life was unbalanced enough, thanks very much!

_Something was terribly wrong with this scene._

Hermione slammed to a halt so fast her robes swished violently. Hermione wasn't sure how she knew, but neither did she question her instincts. She immediately backed away from the prone figure. Her confused brown eyes darted around the Slytherin common room. Why would Malfoy, a wizard with deep trust issues even among his own kind, fall asleep in the very public common room where he lay vulnerable? It was totally out of character.

"Hello, Hermione."

Hermione was paralyzed. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Those insidious words danced with lazy grace down her spine. Bone deep cold clutched her heart. Her eyes closed. She didn't want to look. She didn't want to see the figure she knew was mere feet away to her right. _Calm down, Hermione. It can't be him. Harry killed him._ Dumbledore had promised her that he had seen the Dark Lord fall with his own eyes.

"What's the matter, my love? You don't look all that happy to see me." The deep voice had lost its characteristic hissing quality.

_My love._

Sickness swamped her. She wanted to throw up, wanted to claw her eyes out so that she would never again see the images those words conjured up. But that was no way to go. Hermione struggled for composure. She had to get her head together, to force the fear and the bile from her throat and confront the dirty bastard who had stolen her rose-tinted glasses. She took a deep breath, commanded her eyes to open, and ordered her neck muscles to work.

She looked into the shadows. She could make out a life sized portrait propped against the wall. It was very formal with a gilded gold frame shaped like a bed of snakes. The scene was the stuff of fairy tales. A black throne encrusted with jewels sat in contrast to a stained glass window, complete with dragons. The empty chair didn't fool her for a moment. "Tom Riddle," she said.

The handsome young man stepped from behind in the throne and smiled at her with angelic beauty. It was almost easy to forget that the individual within had once tried to destroy all that Hermione held dear. Including herself. Tumultuous emotions roiled underneath the surface of the flat tone. "What have you done?"

The young man shrugged. "I missed you, and when I heard that the Old Fool was trying to pair you with that _blood traitor_-" he spat in Draco's direction, anger blazing in his eyes a moment before disappearing. When he turned his attention back to Hermione, his expression had returned to the sort of mad calm of before. Like two different people, Hermione thought in a detached sort of way. That half smile perked his lips once more. "Anyway, I decided to have Animle deliver my portrait to Hogwarts. Return to my roots, as it were," he snickered.

An elf stepped from behind Draco's couch. A pathetic little thing, ragged and stooped, its eyes burned her with malevolence that rivaled Voldemort's. Hermione could see a vague resemblance to the house elf Kreacher. She was going to have to tread carefully here. She fingered the handle of her wand through her robes. Tom Riddle as a portrait was bad enough, but to have his mad personality coupled with an earthly accomplice…. "Did you kill Draco and Ick?" she asked in a hard voice.

She hid the pain that lanced through her at the thought_. Please, please, _she silently begged the boy behind her, _don't be dead. I wasn't really going to kill you. Just maul you a little and send you on your way. I might have forgiven the kiss eventually._

Tom Riddle chuckled. "No, he's not dead. Neither is the doll, if you could call that living. In fact, he's very much aware of what's going on around him. Oh, Hermione, if you could have felt his struggle to warn you away!" The chuckle became a full out laugh. Hermione wanted to stifle it. Forever this time. The man who would become Lord Voldemort stepped up to the very edge of the portrait. He pressed his hand to the barrier of the canvas in vicinity of her cheek. His fingers trailed down. Hermione could almost feel that caress and used her iron will to suppress the shiver of disgust. Dark brown eyes stared into her own almost lovingly. "Did you miss me, Hermione? It's been such a long time since I've seen you." His voice was husky with an emotion Hermione refused to think about.

"The moment I was told you were dead was one of the happiest of my life," she bit out. Tom Riddle smiled. The vehement hatred in her face did not phase him in the slightest. "I imagine it was. You never felt for me the way I felt for you. Love and hate are so closely intertwined, however, that I relished your hatred as much I would have your more tender mercies." His eyes flickered to Draco and hardened. "A strange situation I'm sure young Malfoy is much too familiar with."

Hermione snorted. 'What are you talking about?" She wanted this done. She wanted Draco and Ick safe. She wanted to watch this painting _burn_. Tom seemed to enjoy the feelings he invoked in her. "I've realized something, Hermione. Why I could never curse you. It was so strange. After all, someone had already cursed you in the Ministry. Why couldn't I, the most powerful of the them all? It's the same thing that happened with that arrogant little ponce's mother, Lily Evans," he snarled. "Someone loved you so much that they were willing to die for you."

Hermione stared at him in shock. "Harry….Ron…."

"They love you like a sister. Powerful, but not quite enough. That ruddy idiot, that blood traitor Malfoy turned out to be a double agent. Tell me, Hermione, do you ever wonder where the heretofore cowardly Malfoy suddenly got the courage to turn against his kind?" Tom asked in a snarl. "_He didn't even realize it_. How could _his _love deflect my curses from you! I had to rely on a very primitive method of breaking you because of him."

The scars on Hermione's back burned in memory. His gaze trailed down her body. She could almost see the memories scroll through his mind. "Primitive, but effective," he drawled. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Hermione bristled. "You've lost your tiny little mind! Now release Malfoy and Ick before I do something you'll regret."

"I have plans for that deserter. But for now…." A dark emotion flickered through his eyes. "Let's get reacquainted, my love."

Hermione whipped her wand out and pointed it at Animle. "_Immobulus_!" she cast with a shout. The house elf froze only a heartbeat before a spell hit Hermione from the left. A second minion! She flew backward, head over heels before crashing onto an oak table. Her forehead cracked against the wood painfully. Her vision swam dangerously, but Hermione refused to give in to the nausea that threatened to overflow.

Something flew overhead. Hermione rolled off the table and landed in a crouch, eye to the ceiling. There it was again. A flash of blood red cloth drifting among the vaulted rafters. At first Hermione thought it was the Dark Lord's Dementors, but the laughter that rang out changed her mind. "What a fighter," a woman cackled. "I like 'em feisty, dears," another replied. Hermione narrowed her eyes, searching her encyclopedic memory at lightning speed. She side shuffled slowly. She had to get to Draco, get him and Ick out of here.

One leg extended, foot down. Ok, now shift weight. Faster. Hermione kept her eyes trained above her. There had to be at least three up there, all female. Red robes….When she was only a foot away from Draco and the couch the answer came to her. Keres.

Female harbingers who haunted battlefields. They came in the hour of death for human kind. Their red robes, sparkling eyes, and vicious white teeth stayed with someone until their last breath. Then the Keres would utter a chilling cry and swoop down to drink the person's blood and send them on to dark death. They rarely participated in battle, but could occasionally be persuaded to join in.

Voldemort hadn't lost his charisma even in death. Hermione could see the eyes even now. They were drifting lower, watching her crouched figure with amusement. Their blue skin stood out in sharp contrast to their sparkling orbs, creating an almost hypnotic effect. Except Hermione was in no mood to play games.

She stood up and pointed her wand at them. Draco and Ick lay helpless behind her. She was determined to protect them no matter what. Something warm dripped down her cheek. Hermione knew without touching that it was blood. She also knew that the Keres could smell it. She could see the excitement in their faces. "Stay away," she calmly warned them. "I've no quarrel with you."

The Keres laughed. "Dear, we've no quarrel with you either. We just want that sweet, sweet blood we smell. How odd that the Lord considers something so enticing, dirty."

Hermione smirked. "He ever hates what he cannot have," she told the Keres significantly. Tom Riddle slammed his fist into the portrait frame. Had she been looking, she would have seen his face contort into that familiar expression of hatred.

Draco fought the spell that pinned him to the couch. _They would kill her_! His heart pounded painfully in his chest. He had glimpsed those things mere seconds after he had seen Voldemort's portrait for the first time. They meant to have Hermione's blood!

He was beginning to panic. _You have to throw this spell off! Where the bloody hell is your _**wand**_, you great oaf! Have to protect Ick, have to protect Hermione. Have to have to have to!_

The man in the portrait began to laugh. It was a dark, nasty sound that perverted the meaning of laughter. "I've always loved watching Hermione fight the inevitable," he whispered in Draco's mind. "It's rather thrilling to watch. If I had let you see, Malfoy, you would have witnessed those glorious eyes flash with anger and such enticing fear. Her very cheeks are flushed with her dirty blood, Malfoy. Such a pretty, pretty Mudblood." Cold, invisible fingers trailed down Draco's throat. "A pleasure to watch, to feel… _to taste_."

The bastard licked his dead lips noisily. "_To destroy_." Hermione started shouting spells somewhere beyond the darkness that was Draco's sight. The Keres gave back as good as they got.

No! He wouldn't let this happen! Draco thrust his fear away. _Finite Incantatum, _his inner voice shouted for the hundredth time.

The spell abruptly disappeared. Draco bolted to his feet. Ick began to cry earnestly. _Be safe, _he prayed silently. He cast a quick, obscure spell that sent the little girl to Malfoy Manor, praying his mother would get the message. "Hermione!" he called out just as a peculiar whistling sound jerked his attention away from the girl.

_Crack_!

"Draco!" Hermione cried. Pain seared the left side of Draco's face, blinding him. A second whistle and then a third, each followed by an explosion of pain. His shirt split open and blood poured from his chest and stomach.

"Suffer, Traitor!" Tom Riddle shouted. Suddenly Hermione jumped into Draco's arms the same moment the whistle sounded again. Hermione went rigid, head thrust back and teary eyes focused entirely on the ceiling. "Hermione!" Draco gasped involuntarily. Warm blood splashed onto Draco's hand. He twisted his body and pushed her into the corner next to the giant hearth. Draco used his tall, well built form to shield her from whatever was attacking them. Hermione, damn her, still managed to thrust her wand underneath his arm and train it on the assailants.

The Keres surrounded them. One had a curious length of braided rope in her hand. She drew it lazily across her own cheek. "Oh, my," she murmured. "Got a bit carried away, dear." Her eyes glinted. Draco ignored his throbbing check and torso and wished for his wand. Wandless magic required a focus of the mind that Draco couldn't seem to zero in on for more than a second at a time. He was frazzled, afraid for Hermione. Terrified that this time her crazy tendency to attract deadly magical creatures was going to finish them off before they had a chance to truly begin.

"If we get out of this alive, Hermione," he said, chest heaving. "I'm going to kill you for getting me into things like this. Then we're getting married."

Hermione drew a shaky breath against Draco's shoulder. "Married?" she squeaked.

He grunted. "I figure you owe me as much for saving your cute bum so many times."

"Ooooh, melodrama," one Kere sighed. "Dinner _and _a show."

"Shut the fuck up," Draco snarled. "Hag."

He'd never felt so helpless in his life…not since that fateful Deatheaters meeting his fourth year. Then it had been anonymous Muggles about to die. This time, however, it was the girl he loved who faced Death's scythe. A life that was infinitely more precious to him than his own. _What if you fail? What if you can't save her this time? _His inner self sounded horrified at the very prospect. Thanks to the mirror in his mother's attic, he now knew what it would be like to live without her.

Like a corpse breathing.

Tom Riddle practically pressed his face against the portrait's boundaries with agitated excitement. "How does it feel, Hermione? How does the whip feel against your skin again?"

Draco's attention jerked away from the temporarily restrained Keres to the portrait. Again? He took in the "whip", as Riddle called it. His blonde brow furrowed. He looked down at his bleeding torso. The skin had torn from one side to the other, leaving furrows that burned. They would scar without a potion….

Like Hermione's back.

Hermione could feel the moment Draco made the connection between the scars on her back and the Muggle whip in the Kere's hand. The muscles in his back became corded steel. One hand reached back to grip the flesh of her hip firmly. She wasn't sure why he did that but admitted to herself that she hoped that he meant to comfort her.

"Hermione?" What exactly he was asking, he wasn't sure.

Hermione decided to answer with the simple truth. "I was supposed to be meeting Dumbledore. No one else knew. Or so we thought," she whispered. Emotion choked her voice.

"And what a glorious month we had, my love," Tom Riddle purred evilly. Memories of the Muggle killing assailed Draco. Dread filled his belly. _Rape_, he thought with sickening realization.

Hermione shuddered.

And just like that Draco focused. The need to kill, to avenge the one he loved suddenly pushed out every other feeling that was drowning him. He drew on the deep reserve that his father had instilled in him, that deep void inside that sucked up all emotion until only rage remained. He fed on that rage, allowed it to be born in his heart, relished the feel of it swimming through his blood and setting it aflame until his entire body burned with it.

It was the anger of one entrenched in the Dark Arts, deadly and purposeful. Voldemort, or Riddle, or whoever the hell resided in that portrait had dared to take on a Malfoy.

He'd bespelled Draco, terrified his helpless daughter, and implied sinister and disgusting things that twisted Draco's gut about the girl he loved.

Nobody fucked with Draco Malfoy with impunity, and it was time to remind everyone of that little fact.

The same energy that had saturated him in the infirmary grew and cloaked him once more. His hair crackled, his eyes turned to molten quicksilver. He bared his teeth. The dark green furniture of the Slytherin common room shook violently, like they were experiencing an earthquake. Things shattered everywhere. Little lightning bolts danced through Hermione's body where it touched his. "Draco!" The Keres backed away slightly, unsure about this potent new magic that suddenly radiated off of this young wizard. One seemed to gather her wits. Uttering a chilling scream, she dove for Malfoy.

He threw out a hand. Black flame leapt from his palm in a loud _whoosh_! In seconds it twisted and fashioned itself into a roaring dragon that launched itself at the Kere. The Kere screamed horribly as it collided with a force more searing than the Patronus charm. Flames burst out upon her robes. She spiraled for the ceiling in a panic. The one with the whip reared back and let it fly; Draco made a cutting motion with one finger from the other hand, and the end drifted harmlessly to the floor. It was neatly sliced in half. This one too found itself devoured and burst into flame. The third tried to run, but Draco was beyond mercy. She never stood a chance.

Hermione buried her head in his back to block out the terrible screams.

Draco cast the killing curse.

And all was silent.

A/N-Again I want to credit Gareth's Encyclopedia of Monsters. The Keres exist in Greek legend, like the Lamia, but I really wanted to get away from the serpent thing. Plus I didn't think another super ancient curse in less than two days was exactly plausible. So these old biddies do their thing still in Greece, and aren't extinct like Lamia was said to be.


	14. Pain and Profession

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but Ick and my plot.

_**Pain and Profession**_

A pain unlike Draco had ever known before ripped through his body, robbing him of breath. Needles jabbed at his organs from all directions, eclipsing the agony of the lacerations, spreading fire through his very blood. "Gods!" he gasped. His back arched in some unconscious attempt to get away, but it was a useless gesture. "Hermione!" His knees gave out under the onslaught, pitching him forward before he could react. Out of nowhere a body collided with his own. Gritting her teeth, Hermione struggled to support his much bigger body with her own. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his waist and sweat beaded on her forehead. "I've got you," she grunted. "We have to get you to the infirmary, Draco." She was breathing hard under the strain.

Every square inch pressed against her burned like living fire. His wounds demanded he get away from her, the pain so much that Draco couldn't contain his moans. Instead of letting her go, however, Draco wrapped his own arms around her and pulled her flush against his body. He needed the comfort, needed to keep her safe even in his pitiful state. He despised his weakness even as he slid to the floor in a kneeling position, unable to hold himself up. "Hermione," he gritted out. His face was buried against her stomach. His breath was labored, and he was finding it difficult to speak beyond her name. "Hermione."

Soft hands cupped his face and lifted it so that their eyes met, worried brown to pained gray. She tenderly stroked his hair to comfort him even as she spoke in urgent tones. "Listen to me, Draco. It's very important that you focus on me. You're suffering from a hallucinogen . It's going to be very painful and very confusing. You will start to see things that don't make sense and might even scare you. They aren't real, Draco. Just remember," she rushed on, "I'm with you. I won't leave you alone, and I won't let anything hurt you. Can you remember to keep looking at me?"

Draco's arms tightened in response. He never blinked, but searched her face with questioning eyes. Hermione could see the thoughts running through his mind, the realization that she wasn't suffering in the slightest from her own wound. Suspicions as to why she would know about his agony, and the dawning horror associated with the answers he found. Unable to face the silent interrogation, she hugged him to her. She didn't even care that his head rested against her soft chest. "I won't let anything happen to you," she vowed determinedly. Then, without thought, she pressed fervent kisses to his forehead. "I swear."

For as long as Draco lived, he would never be able to recall the trip to the infirmary. By the time Dumbledore and his mother found a tearful but determined Hermione, Draco had succumbed to the terrifying visions. Hermione had underestimated the potency of the potion used. No matter how hard Draco had concentrated on her face, no matter how hard he struggled to fight off the pain and make his way down the hall, the potion had overpowered his reason and sent him to the floor in a convulsive fit. Hermione had been reduced to holding his body as still as possible while simultaneously screaming for help.

It was Harry and Ron who came to the rescue. Over the years that had grown sensitive to one another's needs. The war had only sharpened their bond, and indeed it had been Harry and Ron who had insisted to Dumbledore that something had been terribly wrong with Hermione during that hellish month of captivity. Ron usually caught on after Harry, but perversely it was the redhead who had first sensed Hermione's need this time. He had been searching for her for endless minutes now, meeting up with Harry in the halls. They two had thrown themselves over the thrashing Malfoy, trying to prevent him from doing more harm to Hermione and himself. Dumbledore and Narcissa along with several other professors had come upon the scene an eternity later.

Draco had been screaming madly by now. Much to his later guilt he had attacked Hermione in a misguided attempt to fight off the demons pinning him to the floor. "Get off me!" He had scratched and pounded, only to have one demon be joined by two others who were much stronger. Objects took on sinister life. They threw themselves at him, had in fact driven Hermione away in to the darkness at the edge of his vision. "Hermione! No!" He couldn't seem to reach her!

In his head he heard Ick wailing. He saw his father holding Ick to him, grinning evilly and offering the child up as a pagan sacrifice to the Dark Lord, whose eyes glowed heinously. They lay the child on the dais. Angrily, desperately, Draco tried to push through the shadows. Ick! The screams were tearing at him. He had to save her! "No no no no no no no--" A wicked knife raised. He was now looking down a the dais. Ick cried terrified tears, reaching up to him. Oh gods, was that his hand? He tried to hold back, tried to open his fingers and drop the knife, but some unseen force guided his arm until he no longer recognized his own limb. Horror filled him. Tears poured down his face. He shook his head in denial. Please, no, he didn't want to do this! He loved Ick. Someone stop him! He didn't want to---he didn't want to---!

The knife slashed. The crying stopped.

The sight before Draco paralyzed him. Things that he would never tell anyone imprinted themselves on his brain forever more. A wild howl of grief formed in his throat, ripping its way up until it tore from his mouth in a wail. He thought he fell to his knees. His hands burrowed themselves in his hair, and Draco rocked back and forth, lost to his despair.

* * *

He knew before he opened his eyes that she was beside him. Draco was sure that he would _always _know when she was near, just as he prayed that that is where she would always be.

His eyes opened slightly. Hermione lay on her side in the bed next to him. His breath caught. His heart ached. A big, ugly bruise marred her face, and somehow Draco knew that Hermione had been the 'demon' he'd fought. His gaze dropped to where Ick was cradled tenderly between them, her little face buried in her daddy's chest. At some point Draco had wrapped an arm around them both and drawn them close, unable to bear distance even in sleep. Draco hesitantly raised a trembling hand to brush a finger across Ick's smooth cheek. She wriggled slightly, her little nose wrinkling. She heaved a sigh to big for her little body and nestled closer. So small and so trusting.

Abruptly tears pricked Draco's eyes. She was alright. For a moment he had been terrified that the nightmares had been real, that somehow he had managed to hurt one of those most precious to him. He closed his eyes and swallowed painfully. Thank the gods, he thought. Thank the gods.

"Draco?" a soft voice whispered. "Are you crying?" A hesitant hand brushed his hair away from his pale face. Without opening his eyes he grabbed it and dragged it palm-up to his lips, silently sobbing while he pressed impassioned kisses in the skin. The sight broke Hermione's heart. She raised herself quickly on one elbow and gathered him to her as close as she could without crushing Ick, cradling him like a child. "Shh," she whispered. "It's all right. It wasn't real, and now you're with us again."

Draco buried his face in her neck and held her. "I thought you were dead," he whispered brokenly. "I couldn't reach you. I did that to your face, didn't I? I'm sorry, I'm sorry- And Ick--oh, gods, Hermione, what I did- I kil- I- I--" He couldn't say the words aloud, couldn't admit his abject shame. In their entire school experience Hermione had never seen him like this. She had never dreamed that Draco could feel such deep despair, or show it so readily. These past few days had been full of startling revelations for her. Draco was like a lost child, desperate for a way to feel better. Hermione pressed her lips to his ear and did her best to comfort him.

"I know," she confessed. "I know what you thought happened. I--I've seen those things too."

Draco quieted in her arms, listening, not judging. Somehow Hermione found the strength to tell him the things she could not tell Ron or Harry. "When I was-- When Voldemort kidnapped me, he put me in a very dark room with no windows. I didn't know what day it was, how much time passed. I forgot what the sun looked like. I didn't want light at all, I wanted to stay in the dark." She shivered. "Light meant that the door to my prison was open, and that _he _was coming." Draco's hand absently brushed her back.

"Hermione," he breathed. "Did he-?"

"No," she denied quietly. "Not physically. He beat me. He had tried to curse me but it didn't work, so he used a whip. That wasn't enough for him. He used to soak the whip in a potion." Her voice caught. "I had such terrible nightmares, Draco. Things that still haunt me." She looked down at the sleeping Ick. "I knew these things weren't real, but it didn't stop me from being afraid that somehow I was really capable of doing those horrible things. That maybe Ick wasn't really safe with me."

Very terrible truths were becoming clear to Draco. The fear he had felt after only one episode multiplied by one awful month, and Draco wondered how Hermione had kept her sanity. She had appeared so calm with Ick, never once hinting that her reticence was in fact founded on profound alarm. He swallowed against the lump in his throat and forced the images clamoring in his brain away as she continued. "I've never told anyone about that place, not even Harry or Ron. During the final battle I managed enough energy to unhinge the door and escape into the woods. That's where Dumbledore found me, and he hid me away from Harry and Ron until I was healed. But somehow…..I think they know. I think that they're just waiting for me to tell them."

Draco managed to summon a ghost of his trademark smirk. "Those ruffians possessing intuition? Highly unlikely. Probably just planning their next meal," he scoffed without rancor. Hermione flashed a smirk of her own, her eyes suspiciously damp. "Those ruffians are the ones who carried you up here. You might want to consider thanking them."

"Consider? Possibly. Doing? Not a chance."

"I would have thought the Malfoy family honor would demand some sort of restitution. You know, to repay a _debt_," Hermione stressed playfully. Draco rubbed his nose on her sleeve in response, letting her know what he thought about _that _little gem. Hermione squealed despite herself. Ick rubbed her eyes sleepily and blinked up at them, obviously wondering what the devil was going on. "It's his fault," Hermione told her quickly.

Draco cast her a mock evil eye. "It is not," he denied disdainfully. "I would never do anything to disturb Ick, would I, baby?" he asked the little girl. She blinked once, twice, then grinned as she burrowed into Hermione's side. Hermione gave a surprised laugh. Draco pretended outrage. "What's this? Going over to the other side, are we? Baby mice deserting the sinking ship? I'll remember this, you little runt," he growled. He ran his hands up and down Ick's sides, tickling her mercilessly. She lay on her back and grabbed a finger in each little fist. "Dada, thtop!" she giggled in little girl delight.

Both teenagers stopped cold. They stared in wonder at the toddler. "Did you hear that, Hermione? She talked," Draco stuttered. Hermione nodded. "She called you Dada, Draco." A curious rush of warmth suffused her. Draco sat up beside her, ignoring his protesting body and held Ick up until they were eye to eye. "Did you call me Dada, Ick?"

Ick patted his cheeks. "My dada." She leaned in and planted a little kiss right on his left eye. Pride and something akin to joy threatened to overflow in Draco. He hugged his little one tightly and blinked rapidly. Ick looked at him curiously. "Dada cwy?"

Draco laughed. "Yes, Dada cry." He wiped his face sheepishly and looked down at Hermione. "Dada happy." Because he had to, he lay back down. Because he wanted to, he held Hermione close and nestled Ick between them. Because he needed to, he held onto them as he drifted off into healing sleep, content.

* * *

Hours later, Hermione arose from the bed. She eased Ick out with her, and carefully made her way out of the infirmary without waking Draco. She needed to think. She needed to plan. She needed to talk to Ron and Harry.

Twenty minutes after reassuring Narcissa yet again that Draco was fine, Hermione was on the hunt. Contrary to Draco's assumption that only one night had passed, it had in fact been three. Hermione had gotten more than her fair share of curious looks from her classmates due to Draco's handiwork on her face, but she had also gotten a good look at what life as a mother was like. Ick demanded a lot of time and attention, and for once Hermione found it difficult to concentrate in class. She had managed it somehow, getting help from the strangest place.

Slytherins.

Twenty minutes into her first class of the day Hermione had realized that unlike herself, Ick wasn't going to be entertained by Ancient Runes alone. Oh, she had stared in childlike fascination at the pages of the text, but a toddler had only so much attention span. When that time was up, Hermione had remembered with painful clarity that Ick had no toys with which to occupy herself. Or so she thought.

After ten more minutes of watching Hermione struggle, Blaise Zabini calmly reached over and lifted the baby out of Hermione's arms. Ignoring her stunned stare, he returned to his note taking without missing a beat. Ick had amused herself with his tie for several moments before Hermione had snapped out of her stupor. Ick was apparently safe for the moment, and Hermione was falling behind. Reluctantly she had returned her attention to the lecture, but double-checked on Blaise and the baby every five minutes. Harry had grinned at her from across the room and given her the ok, letting her know that Blaise had done this before.

In fact, it seemed almost all of the Slytherins had done this before! And not just with Ick, but with the twins as well. Apparently they recognized potential in the two, and did their best to relieve either Pansy or Ron when they could. Strangely enough, Pansy was more reticent to the idea than even Ron. Hermione had thought she was losing it at first. But the more she observed the Slytherin Princess, the more she became convinced Pansy was actually enamored with her offspring. She touched them often and played with them whenever possible. Did Ron realize any of this, Hermione wondered?

The kicker came in Snape's class. Ick had been fussing, reaching for ingredients as Hermione tried to concentrate on performing the proper motions when Snape had stalked up to her desk. Hermione had cuddled Ick protectively close, ready for a blistering lecture and a million point deduction when Snape had unclasped his hands from behind his back--and calmly handed Ick a doll! Hermione's mouth had fallen open. Hard. She'd watched in amazement when Snape casually turned and strode off like nothing momentous had occurred, leaving Hermione to wallow in her dazed state.

She shook her head now, still unsure of what to make of it all. And wonders simply never ceased, she thought, waving at Michael and Ginny as they passed. Apparently Malfoy had sent a newly naked Michael crash landing right onto Ginny's homework in the library. For a reason Hermione really didn't want to touch on, the two had been inseparable ever since. Hermione supposed she should have been feeling a bit put out over it all.

That was why she needed to talk to her friends. Not only did losing her crush to Ginny not hurt at all, but Hermione was beginning to suspect that her affections had focused in a new, wholly unexpected direction. But was such a thing possible, or was she deluding herself? How did Malfoy feel about her? Did she want to know? Did she want to take this partnership to a whole new level?

She needed to talk to Harry and Ron _now_.

* * *

"So," Harry Potter wondered to himself. "How did you manage to end up like this?"

Harry had his bum pressed to a sun-warmed wall, barely squeezing into the space between the stone and the flora. His nose twitched. Blasted hay fever. He hoped fervently he wouldn't sneeze and give the game away. He was on his hands and knees, scuffing up the one good pair of trousers he had with him. The only means of invisibility he had right now was a rather prickly hedge and a sort of shuffle technique getting him from point A to point B.

He cautiously wiggled his fingers around in the leaves until he had a sort of peep hole formed. One green eyes pressed as close as it dared, focusing in on Luna right away. She sat in one of the lesser rooftop courtyards. True to form, she bypassed the bench entirely and opted for a grassy seat. She smiled at the antics of a lively toddler, who had found a new delight in a magical ball. Every time she touched it, the ball turned into a blue puppy of some kind and cheerfully scampered away. The child, Hazel, giggled in ecstasy and gave chase. He watched her play with the baby, crooning softly and laughing occasionally. She had a pretty nice laugh. It was warm and deep, wrapping itself around him in strange ways. She seemed to really like being a mother.

Harry had spent the better part of an hour glued to a bush and this very scene. His shoulders were getting stiff, and he was fairly certain the crick in his neck was going to become permanent if something didn't change soon. He rubbed his nose again, never blinking in case something happened. Luna had become some sort of magnet for him…he couldn't seem to make himself leave.

Sure, it wasn't the first time he'd ever spied on anyone. He'd done it loads of times, for important reasons…. and not so important ones too. But never before had he felt the need to spy on Luna Lovegood. He was frankly beginning to get a bit worried about it. For instance, when did Luna get pretty? He'd known the girl for the better part of six years. Somehow he had never noticed that her features were actually quite nice to look at.

This new discovery, however, still didn't account for what he was currently doing.

Maybe he was just worried. Something was obviously the matter. Harry's forehead creased thoughtfully. Night was falling and Luna should have been taking her child inside, but she showed no sign of doing so soon. It was like she was avoiding it. Harry had noticed the way Blankenship had been treating her. "Reluctant" didn't quite describe it. Ruddy idiot, Harry thought to himself darkly. Luna could be a bit off the wall, but she wasn't a bad sort at all. Rather nice to be around, actually. Definitely not boring.

It would have been simple to just walk up to her and start up a conversation. He'd done it plenty of times before. Casually stroll up, sit down, and ease a few questions in so that he could find out what the problem was and take care of it. Simple. So why was he in a bush? Why didn't he do this supposedly simple thing and stop acting like a Peeping Tom?

This new weight on his chest seemed to pin him to the spot, that's why! His heart suddenly accounted for seventy percent of his body weight and wouldn't let him move. It just beat with thunderous intensity, making his blood race in a way he hadn't thought would happen so soon after his breakup with Ginny. Not with _Luna_.

It was the way she seemed so focused on her child. It made her glow in a way that refused to go unnoticed, drawing attention to things like how pretty she was and the like. Things that had probably always been there, but Harry had been too wrapped up in other distractions to notice. He didn't know what this new feeling was quite yet, but was sure that one conversation with the girl currently sitting on the every dampening grass would clear up any confusion.

And that terrified him. So he stayed where he was, between a bush and a hard place, afraid to go, hating to stay.

* * *

Ronald was having his own crisis. He was pacing his room in agitation, turning the events of the past few days over in his mind. Why had he defended Pansy Bloody Parkinson, the Slytherin equivalent of Gryffindor's Princess? Why did he get all warm and fuzzy inside when he watched her with the twins? Why did he think of her so much? Why was he bloody well _watching _her so much!

He cast an aggravated glance at the door. There were a million things he should be doing… He could go play Quidditch, or actually study, or he could jump into the Black Lake in some mad attempt to clear his mind….. Blasted Gryffindor honor! Look where it got him. Defending Slytherins, thinking about Slytherin girls, wondering what Pansy would look like without a scowl….

Downright wrong, if you asked him. The red headed giant delivered a swift kick to the nearest bench in aggravation. The poor bench jumped and banged against the wall. He marched off in huffy satisfaction, stubbornly ignoring the pain in his big toe. He rushed out the door and bounded down the stairs, but came to a screeching halt at the foot.

He really shouldn't have been surprised, he thought as he stared in open wonderment at the scene before him. They did share a common room, after all. He was bound to run into her there. Except that Pansy had been retreating to the Slytherin common room the past few nights, the same way he had bunked at Malfoy's…..

All that aside, it wasn't her presence that stunned Ron, but what she was doing. Pansy the Heartless, the Great Weasley Hater herself, was dancing…with the twins. Musical instruments of all kinds levitated all over the room, playing a rousing tune without the aid of human hands. Pansy was singing at the top of her lungs in a very nice voice, a twin wrapped in each arm. She danced around without a set pattern, caught up in music and the joy of the moment. She'd left off her robe, giving Ron a close up look of her bare legs and feet.

Ron couldn't seem to grasp what was happening right in front of him. Was this really Pansy Parkinson? The Ice Queen? _Laughing? _

This wasn't doing his resolve any good. No sir. His mind was clouding up more than before, not clearing. His thoughts were fuzzy now. The world around him seemed to blur until he could only see Pansy dancing daintily, more free than he

had ever seen her. He started to forget that she was a Slytherin or why he couldn't risk liking her, much less caring about her the way he was in danger of doing.

_What _had been the problem, again?

Pansy made a sharp turn, spinning on her heel fast and heedless. She couldn't stop herself from tripping over her own feet. "Whoa!" she gasped when she stumbled. She felt herself falling forward. Her eyes closed out of instinct. She braced herself for an impact with the floor. But breathless seconds before it happened, big warm arms wrapped themselves around all three people and snatched them up. The air whooshed in her ears with the speed of her sudden rescue, and Pansy's eyes flew wide open.

She found herself pressed firmly into a well-formed chest…and staring dazedly into the startled blue eyes of none other than Ronald Weasley.

* * *

Just when she was about to give up, Hermione found herself surrounded by the very Gryffindors she'd been searching for, plus one. Neville arrived first, nearly running Hermione over where she rested on a bench. From the right she could see Ron speeding down the hall as if the hounds of hell were on his heels, and around the corner came Harry a second later. The four looked each other in the eyes and blurted out the thing on all their minds.

"We need to talk."

A/N- Well, now, it's been awhile, hasn't it? I hope you guys are happy with my newest addition. Only one more chapter to go! Please tell me what you think!

A/N2--oh, and the title……Profession is used in the context that Hermione is professing, or confessing something.


	15. And so it ends

**And so it ends…**

* * *

The quartet looked at one another in confusion. "We do?" they asked. Then once again in unison, "Stop that!"

Hermione waved her arm like a referee. She pointed at Ron first. "You first."

The giant blushed and seemed to develop a stutter. "I-uh-well-I-Harry?"

Harry pointed at himself as if to say, 'Who me?' "Well I-um…Neville?"

"That bloody Bulstrode is going to kill me!" Neville shouted. Ick jumped in Hermione's arms, but settled quickly down to watch the show.

Neville's arms waved wildly to emphasize his seriousness and Ron gasped, "Neville! You swore!"

"You'd be swearing too if you had Millicent C. Bulstrode, esquire, breathing down your neck!" Neville retorted, though his volume was somewhat less booming.

Hermione looked at the clearly agitated boy and briefly wondered if women really could be called 'esquire' before she refocused and shifted closer. "Now Neville, let's be reasonable-"

"Reasonable?" Neville squawked. "_Reasonable_? There is no such thing as reason anymore! Millicent's killed it! Dead!" He jerked off his tie and held it up, a wild glint in his eye. "You see this? It represents reason. And this is what she's done to it. Smoosh!" He crumbled the cloth viciously, and then threw it to the ground. "Splat!" He proceeded to jump up and down on the once proud Gryffindor tie. "Stomp, stomp, stomp!"

Hermione covered Ick's eyes quickly to save her from seeing the murder of noble Reason, while Ron reached out and yanked Neville up by the shirt collar and shook him like a rag doll. "Pull yourself together, man!" he shouted at the smaller boy, adding a slap for good measure.

Neville took the hit like a champion, but did have to shake his head to clear out the stars. "Thanks?" he murmured dazedly.

Ron released him with a friendly pat on the back. "Any time, mate."

Hermione looked on in concern, trying to contain a restless Ick, who wanted to get to Harry for some reason. "Are you ok, Neville?"

"I think I am." He smoothed back stray hairs nervously, which did about as much good as trying to convince Hagrid that dragons were ugly.

Hermione eyed Harry, who had managed to ease just that much closer during Neville's…outburst. "Who are you protecting? Us or you?" she whispered suspiciously.

He grinned, unrepentant. "Me."

Hermione sniffed, holding Ick away from Harry's corrupting influence. Chivalry really was dead, she thought. "Jerk."

Harry held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I know who's the strongest and I'm not afraid to admit it," he teased.

Before Hermione could reply, Neville cleared his throat and drew everyone's attention back to himself. "So who's in?"

Ron was confused. "In on what?" he asked.

Neville cast him a look that clearly stated that Ron was being slower than usual. "The plan to bump off Bulstrode, of course." He was completely serious, as though four Gryffindors and a mini-Malfoy discussed death and destruction every day during tea time. _Really_, Hermione thought, _Neville was a bit stressed, but that was a bit_-

Harry leapt onto the bench and flung his arms around Ick and Hermione. "Hold me, Mummy, I'm scared!" he laughed. Hermione's breath left her in a whoosh when they collided.

_Dramatic_.

The wretch weighed a metric ton! "Harry-"

Hermione was momentarily distracted by Ron snatching Neville back up into his grip and shouting, "Who are you and what have you done to Neville!" He was about to repeat his earlier shaking to somehow make the alleged Polyjuice wear out faster when Neville kicked him in the shin. Hard. Ron let out a howl to wake the dead, immediately releasing the other boy. And if things couldn't get stranger, Neville suddenly launched himself at Ron in a tackle style that would have done an American footballer proud. Hermione lurched back to avoid being squashed. She misjudged the momentum, however. To her horror she started falling backwards. She was going to hit the floor!

She wrapped her arms protectively around Ick. At the last second before impact, Harry flung himself around them, managing to get between her and the floor. So instead of cracking her head open and hurting Ick, the pair landed on a much softer surface. Hermione looked up into Harry's eyes. "Are you hurt?" he asked in concern.

Maybe chivalry had a few more years left to live. "My hero," Hermione said softly.

Harry grinned. "It's what I do," he replied.

Neville was pummeling Ron with all the ferocity and desperation of someone who had just been pushed too far. "Why are you always pushing me around? Well, take that! And that! And _that_!"

"Neville's gone barkers," Harry observed. Hermione noticed that he made no move to stop the 'fight'. And he held her too tight for her to do anything.

Ron was holding his hands up against the rapid, but mostly ineffectual punches. Neville was upset and angry, but not really at Ron. Just the world in general. That didn't mean that Ron had to just lay there and take it, though. "If you don't stop this right now-"

"Hermione, stop moving your knee like that!" Harry cried out.

"That was for making me get into this crazy Future Parents Program and leaving me at Bulstrode's mercy and ignoring my pleas for help and slapping me-"

Hermione had had _enough_. "NEVILLE, STOP IT THIS INSTANT!" she shouted with all the authority she had in her little body. Neville froze instantly, arms poised and Ron glaring up at him mutinously. "You," Hermione continued, "are scaring Ick." Which wasn't true. The little girl had too much of her father in her, Hermione thought with a roll of her eyes. Ick was laughing and enjoying the chaos around her.

She pushed Harry away. He resisted playfully by latching on to Ick. The baby had no problem with that, holding out her arms in recognition of a fellow troublemaker. Hermione sighed. "Oh, all right." Harry chuckled and Ick giggled in triumph.

Hermione stood up and smoothed her skirt. "Now then. First we need to find out what our respective problems are, and this time no evading the issue. We've heard Neville's, er, issue. Let's hear…Ron's."

Ron pushed Neville off of him in annoyance. "Well, you see, it's about Pansy, and lately she's been giving me strange looks." He sat up while he babbled on, "I don't want to go into my common room because I'm afraid to see her and today-"

"Ron, I'm sorry," Hermione interjected. "I don't condone any sort of 'bumping off', whether it's Millicent or Pansy." Ron stood up and looked put out. "I don't want to kiss-I mean, kill her!"

Harry gaped from his spot on the floor, Ick sitting in the cradle of his Indian-style position. "You wanted to kiss Parkinson?"

"I, well, that is-Oh sod it, yes! Yes! I want to kiss Pansy Parkinson!" Ron shouted loud enough to alert the entire school. "And that's not all! I want to-" Harry clapped his hands over Ick's ears and Hermione covered her own. Ron scowled and leaned in close. "_Date her_," he emphasized.

Hermione lifted her hand and looked up at him in relief. "Oh, is that all?" Well, that was much better than what she'd _thought _he was going to say.

Ron put his hands on his hips and rocked back on his heels, grinning slyly. "Well, no," he admitted. "But that's all part of dating." He ignored Hermione's narrowed eyes. "So, what do I do about it?"

"Hell if I know," Harry piped in. "I've got the same problem."

"You want to date Pansy too? Sorry, mate, she's taken." Ron crossed his arms and clearly thought that was that.

Harry quirked an eyebrow in exasperation. "Not Pansy, _Luna_. I think I want to date Luna."

* * *

"Pansy, if you don't wipe that silly grin off your face right now, I'm going to vomit. Swear I will," Draco said in disgust. "And stop hogging the peephole, I want to see Hermione."

Pansy moved over without a single protest. Just went to show how far gone the poor girl was. "Did you hear that?" she murmured for the third time. "Weasley wants to date me."

_Oh, the horror_. Was there no end to the atrocities perpetuated by this infernal program? Weasley was going to get lucky before him, and all that lummox had to do was say a few ineloquent words to seal the deal. Draco had been saddled with fatherhood (love Ick though he did), stripped naked twice, almost drowned, had fought the Lamia, three Keres, and a particularly loathsome rendition of the Dark Lord himself.

And what had he gotten for his effort? A few kisses. The first one he'd stolen and she'd fainted. The second and third had been pressed to his forehead while he was possibly facing death. Since none of those kisses had led to any sort of meaningful aftermath, they therefore didn't count. He needed something more. A kiss she initiated would be nice. Sort of let a bloke know he was making progress or something.

He rolled his eyes and leaned closer to the peephole. His cheek found itself unrepentantly pressed against another that belonged to one Luna Lovegood. Pansy voluntarily bursting into the sick ward had been surprising enough. Everybody knew she despised infirmaries. But the fact that she'd been dragging Luna Lovegood right behind her had been the thing that had made Draco sit up and take notice.

No, she hadn't wanted him to kill Luna. No, she wasn't practicing her kidnapping skills and holding Luna for ransom. She rather liked Luna, actually. Turned out that somewhere along the line Pansy had actually struck up a conversation with Luna. She had refused to discuss particulars, only saying that Luna had been coaching her with the twins.

To make a long story short, Potter wasn't as subtle in his spying, as he would like to think.

"When are we getting to the good stuff?" he muttered irritably. He felt Luna smile dreamily.

"Now," she sighed.

"Gag me."

* * *

Harry was pouring his guts out. If Ron could do it…"I never saw it coming," he confessed. "I never noticed her like that before, but lately I've been-I like how she acts with her baby. But she's really pretty too, and I like to hear her laugh. I want to get to know her better, find out what makes her tick-"

He was cut off when Ron held up his hand, "Do you want to kiss her?"

Hermione's mouth dropped open, "What has that got to do with-"

"Yes," Harry stated seriously. "And if you don't know what that has to do with anything, Hermione Jane, then Malfoy isn't doing it right."

* * *

"I'm going to kill that little sodding-"

"Shhhh!"

"Damned women."

* * *

Hermione had just been delivered the proverbial sideswipe blow. She whipped around to confront Harry. "How was I supposed to know you aren't to hold your breath!" Draco had _told _people about that? Hermione blushed so hard she was sure she would remain permanently red. To think that she'd been contemplating _feeling _something for that low-down, sneaky, snarky…kiss stealer!

Ron choked. "You held your breath?" he gasped, laughter welling up. "Oh, that's classic!" He kept picturing it over and over again in his head. Every time he imagined Hermione turning purple from lack of oxygen, it got funnier. He had to hang on to Neville to keep himself upright. Even Neville seemed to be having a hard time keeping his composure, although he was doing a much better job than his redheaded companion.

Hermione gritted her teeth, "Yes, as you probably heard, I did." Soon it wasn't going to be a matter of _her _ability to breathe, but Draco Malfoy's. Never before had someone inspired Hermione to such homicidal tendencies so often and with such little effort.

Harry shook his head. "I didn't hear anything. I thought I was making a joke." He grinned. "So…Malfoy kissed you, did he?"

Drat. She'd walked right into this. Hermione mentally pardoned Malfoy and tried to gracefully bow out of the conversation. Suddenly she wasn't feeling quite that desperate to sort out her feelings anymore. She was intelligent. She could figure this out for herself. Besides, given the situations these three had just described, this was not the place to find good advice on relationships. Hermione cleared her throat. "You know, it's getting rather late-"

Ron crossed his arms. "Spill." Laughter was still evident in his eyes, but he seemed more concerned with Hermione's sudden retreat.

Hermione considered her options. Ron Weasley could be the most stubborn human being on earth if he wanted to be. Hermione was free to match wills with him, but the effort usually left her drained. Besides, simply doing as he asked ran along the lines of what she'd originally intended to do this evening, anyway. "I strongly suspect that Malfoy fancies me."

There was a long moment of silence. Harry was contemplating the floor, trying to weigh the odds of Malfoy actually possessing feelings. Ron simply looked like he was trying to picture Malfoy as something other than a rodent, and failing miserably. After a moment of squinting at the ceiling, he simply shrugged. Harry looked down at Ick. Well, alright, so maybe Malfoy did occasionally experience tender emotions. Consider how he acted with the little girl. Maybe it wasn't such a big stretch after all.

"More to the point," Hermione continued, "I strongly suspect that I fancy Draco Malfoy."

Again nobody said anything. Harry and Ron looked at one another, each wondering the same thing-What were they supposed to say? Forget the bugger, he's bad news? That wasn't technically true. He _had _fought for their side in the war. More recently, he'd given the boys shelter from the dreaded Millicent. He wasn't all-bad anymore.

"Hermione," Harry ventured, "are you asking us for permission?"

Hermione's brow furrowed. "No."

"Then why are you talking to us about it? Shouldn't you be running off into the sunset with someone right about now?" Ron piped up.

Hermione scoffed at the mental picture. "Actually, I need to know how to make him go away."

Ron threw up his hands. "What is it with everyone and making people-?"

"I didn't mean physically! I meant…Look, it's just not the right time. My parents are still out there somewhere," Hermione sighed, looking away. "You know I'm only in school because Dumbledore forced me to come back."

Harry put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. "Because you're safe here. Not all the Death Eaters were rounded up. Lupin and Tonks will find your parents, Hermione. Have faith in them."

Hermione covered his hand and squeezed. "But will they find them alive?" she whispered back. "I can't just…throw away everything that happened these last six years. I don't hate him, but I can't help but wonder if these feelings I have for him are just part of some trick my brain is playing on me. Needing someone to temporarily replace my parents, to take care of me. Fooling myself into believing that it's all real, that it could work. I'm afraid that in the end, nothing will have been real, and I'll be left with just that. Nothing."

Ick, sensing her mother's distress, held out her arms to Hermione. Hermione complied with a little smile. She and Ick were getting along better and better with each passing hour. She rubbed her cheek against the top of Ick's head and sighed. "Such a good little girl," she murmured.

Ron stared at Hermione in deep thought. She was right. They had all gone through a lot during the past year. Life was far from returning to normal. Was he focusing in on Pansy simply because she was there? Did their close proximity create something that wasn't real inside of him? Was he tricking himself into thinking that his feelings could change so radically, and still last? That wasn't even considering the fact that he didn't know how Pansy felt about him. There was a good chance she would laugh in his face. That old familiar fear settled in on Ron's chest. That deep, abiding feeling that he wasn't good enough for something or someone. The war had forced him to face the fact that birth meant nothing, especially when one was sure that today just might be his last day. It wasn't his birth, or his abilities, or even his magic that concerned him now. It was the notion that maybe he, Ron Weasley, the big, clumsy giant with red hair, just wasn't good enough in Pansy Parkinson's eyes.

Ron didn't think that he could handle being told that.

Harry was thinking something along similar lines. Was he, too, using Luna as a substitute for something? Was he looking for a happy ending too hard?

Neville was wondering what everyone else was thinking about.

"I have an idea," Ron said finally. "We keep this conversation to ourselves. It never happened. We go back to the way we've always been, and once this Future Parents Program thing is over with, we'll start thinking about getting into meaningful relationships. Maybe by spring we'll know for sure what's going on." He looked at each of his companions. "But we've got to stay as distant as possible. We can't let ourselves get sucked into something and then regret it later. We have to be strong."

"That's going to take a lot of willpower," Harry said doubtfully.

Ron shook his head at his friend. "Come on, Harry, we can do it. All we have to do is stick close to one another. We'll keep each other going."

Harry and Hermione shared a look. Hermione shrugged a little. "It's worth a try." And they didn't have any better plans.

Harry squinted at her, still looking unsure. "If you say so."

* * *

Malfoy straightened away from the peephole, his jaw set, eyes glittering with determination, he looked at Pansy. All traces of her earlier giddiness had disappeared, leaving an icy seriousness behind.

Luna came to stand next to her. She looked somewhat less than pleased, but not to the extent of Pansy or Draco's emotions. She looked up at Draco. "I assume you have a plan," she said calmly.

"You're damn right I do," Draco replied grimly. "Are you in?"

"Of course."

"Pansy?"

"Ronald Weasley," the other Slytherin gritted out, "is never going to know what hit him."

* * *

Draco knew, she knew, that he was there. She pretended not to hear his approach while she told Ick the story of the Nutcracker Prince. Draco grinned at the arrested expression on Ick's face. Probably shocked at the blatant romance in the story. A little man who knashed nuts with his teeth for a living having a ballerina-to-be fall in love with him. It was laughable. He had no money, no name, and only a tiny cash poor kingdom that survived on candy.

It may have made more sense if there had been some sort of income…

"Is that all you look for in a man, Hermione?" he whispered in her ear. She jumped, but Draco was willing to bet it was because his breath had brushed her ear. He was very close to her, his mouth almost touching the side of her face. Getting into her personal space.

Perfect.

Hermione didn't look up at him. "I'm not looking for anything in a man," she replied calmly. She was a quivering mess inside, but he didn't know that. Or at least, she hoped he didn't.

Draco chuckled. "I didn't know you were that easy to please." He reached over the back of the sofa and tickled Ick under the chin. "Hey, baby. Don't let Mummy make you think that it's alright for you to marry just anybody. He has to keep you in style." He stood up. "I have to go to class, girls. I'll be back before you go to the tutoring session."

"No practice?"

"Half of my players have come down with colds. The rest have exams. If they don't make the marks, I don't have a team. I switched with the Ravenclaws." Draco picked up his books, which were scattered around the common room. He came to a stop in front of them, grinning mischievously. "Goodbye, Hermione."

One moment he was standing in the front of her, the next he was kissing her cheek, and before she could blink he was gone. She looked down at her lap-where a single tulip lay.

"Oh, boy."

* * *

Pansy looked up at his approach. "How goes it with Granger?" She pushed away from the wall.

Draco thought back to Hermione's bemused face. "Progress," he replied with satisfaction. "Are you ready for it?"

"Today is the day. Luna's already working on her part."

"Good. Hermione needs to see those two buffoons relatively content before she'll consider giving in. They've had a week to get comfortable. Now it's time to go in for the kill."

* * *

Hermione pretended to be reading a book with Ick. Her attention was not in fact on the text for once, but focused on the strangely fascinating scene in front of her.

"Hermione?" Harry said under his breath, "Am I seeing what I think I'm seeing?"

"If you aren't," Hermione murmured back, "then we need to get help, because I'm seeing it too."

Next to the book stacks several rows down, Ron was blushing boyishly at something Pansy Parkinson was saying. Two sets of eyebrows (Harry and Hermione's, Ick couldn't have cared less) shot up when Slytherin's Princess trailed a finger coyly along Ron's arm, smiling flirtatiously.

"Maybe we're misinterpreting it. Making it out to be more than it really is," Hermione ventured.

Harry latched onto the flimsy logic gratefully. "Yeah. Ron wouldn't forget the pact that quickly…"

As if he'd heard them, Ron suddenly shook his head as if to clear it. He captured Pansy's hand and seemed to be ready to step away. "Good Ron," Harry coaxed quietly, eyes glued to the scene.

Hermione added her own encouragements, "That's right," she whispered, "Just walk away."

Pansy looked shocked that Ron was actually disengaging from the conversation. She watched frozen, as Ron moved back. Just when Ron turned away and Hermione thought the danger had passed, Pansy seemed to regain her composure. She caught Ron's hand in a gentle but firm grip. He looked back, startled. Pansy reached into her bag. "Oh, no," Hermione gasped softly.

Harry was leaning so far over the table that all pretense of reading was gone. "She wouldn't!" he denied. "It's just not playing fair-she can't-!" Even as he spoke, Pansy pulled out her secret weapon, Ron's greatest weakness, the key to his downfall!

A cupcake. Drizzled in chocolate.

Harry was shaking his head. "No, Ron, don't do it-Oh, sod it, man! Show some willpower!" But it was too late. Ron had already been snared by sugary goodness, being led like a docile lamb toward the library entrance, Pansy on his arm. Harry's book slapped to the table. "We've lost him," he stated gloomily. "He's done for."

Hermione lay her own book down. "These Slytherin know more about our weaknesses than I had anticipated," she mused. She leaned back so that Harry could pluck Ick out of her lap and settle the baby into his.

"This is going to be tougher than I thought," he said.

Hermione couldn't help but agree.

"What's the plan?"

Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek, thinking quickly. "It's time for me to meet Malfoy so that he can take Ick," she whispered to Harry. "I'm going to see if I can 'accidentally' run into Ron and Pansy before any real damage is done. Wait here for about 10 minutes and go in the opposite direction, just in case they went the other way." She started gathering her books.

Harry sighed. "Planning battles was easier than this," he muttered.

Hermione paused, looking up into Harry's discontented face for a long moment. "Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry rubbed his temple. "Oh, I dunno, Hermione. It's just that this bothers me somehow. The more we try to stay away, the more I want to get closer." He looked up at the ceiling. "Does that make sense? I know it's perverse. I mean, I could just be wanting what I can't have. It all sounds too perfect. There I was, wishing for someone who I could finally belong to and who belonged just with me. Someone to raise a family with. Suddenly I'm noticing Luna. Is it coincidence-"

Hermione's hand over Harry's mouth stopped the outpouring of words. He looked at her startled, while she leaned in, speaking in a very serious tone, "Listen to me very carefully, Harry. What is right for me or for Ron does not automatically mean that it is right for you. You have to trust yourself. Go with your instincts." She smiled as she moved her hand so that it stroked his cheek affectionately. "Because while there is such a thing as coincidence, Harry, I've learned that there's also such a thing as Fate."

She picked Ick up and turned to leave. Harry watched her go for a moment. "Hermione," he called out softly. She stopped, but didn't turn. "You might want to think about taking your own advice," Harry told her gently. He thought he saw her nod, and soon she'd exited the library.

* * *

Ron began to get the feeling that he'd been tricked. He looked at Pansy hard, forcing himself not to reach for another pancake. She'd brought him to a little hole in the wall charmed to look like a breakfast nook, complete with breakfast. In reality it probably wasn't much more than a broom closet, but she'd added an illusion of a window looking out on a sun-drenched yard that reminded him of the Burrow. The table and two chairs were cozy; the room comfortably furnished…and the door tightly closed.

She'd been watching him like a cat tracking a mouse for about five minutes while he was lost in the wonder that was cupcakes and breakfast, until he'd become so aware of her scrutiny that he'd began to assess the situation thoroughly. He hadn't come out looking too good. Actually accepting the cupcake might have been a wee bit of a miscalculation on his part.

Time to get to the heart of the manner. "What did you want to talk about?"

A corner of her mouth lifted. "Did I want to talk about something?"

"Don't play with me, Pansy. I've no stomach for Slytherin games. Say what it is you want to say."

So he wanted to go at it like that, did he? Pansy smirked. Refreshing. "You're a fool if you think I'm going to sit back and let you make all the decisions, Ronald Weasley," she said bluntly.

Ron's jaw went slack. Pansy waved away his astonishment impatiently. "Yes, yes, I know all about your little plan to ignore me until spring. The key to plotting, Ronald, is secrecy. Next time, don't conduct your conspiracies in a public corridor, hmm?" She interlaced her hands and rested her chin on the platform formed therein, regarding Ron seriously across the table. "I'm not going to wait around for you to come to your senses. You either decide now, or you decide never. Your choice."

"You're bloody joking."

"I've no sense of humor that I'm aware of, Ronald. A flaw of mine, I realize, but I'd like to view it as a balance to your…quirks."

Bloody hell, he hadn't expected Pansy to go on the offensive! He was completely unprepared for this. What to do? What to do? He had to stall! "I thought Slytherin were supposed to be sneaky," he hedged. "You're being rather forward about this." Where the hell was Harry or Hermione when he needed them? He was beginning to panic here!

Pansy's smirk widened. "We are sneaky, Ronald. According to Malfoy's plan, your little friend Potter should be running into Luna and that little blight on the earth Blankenship any moment now. Just in time to rescue her while I win you with my wily ways."

"Er…doesn't the word 'wily' imply underhanded aspects? Telling me all about it isn't exactly-"

Pansy sat back. "While I enjoy a good intrigue as much as the next Slytherin, I felt that tact was useless in this case. You were more likely to respond to a broadside question than anything subtle. However, I do believe in pressing my advantage." Now she was smiling with relish. "For instance, due to that little shot of Veritiserum I put in your cupcake, you are unable to lie to me." Ron went white. "And since we're being honest here, I feel I should tell you that the door is locked from the outside as well. Now," she purred, running her finger over his knuckles, "let's talk about us."

* * *

"Hermione," Draco greeted from the sofa. "How was your day?"

_I've lost Ron to a Slytherin and can't find him, thanks. You? _"Fine." Cautiously she approached, handing Ick over. Draco took the baby easily, blowing a kiss on the little girl's belly.

"How's my baby?" he asked playfully. "Look what I got you!" He put her on the floor at his feet, where dozens of blocks sat. Ick began exploring immediately, while Draco turned his attention back to Hermione. "Sit with me," he invited.

_Not in a million years_. "I really have to-"

He grabbed her hand and pulled. She landed with a soft thud. "-go," she finished.

"Sit. Talk. Relax," Draco commanded. He edged closer. Hermione inched to the side.

"What do you want to talk about?" she asked nervously. Drat, she'd reached the end of the couch!

"Oh, you. Me. Us."

Hermione gulped. "I don't know why you persist in-in-whatever it is you're doing, but I suggest you give it up." He wasn't even listening! Hermione almost leapt off the couch like a scalded kneazle, but decided that perhaps this was the opportunity she'd been waiting for. Taking a deep breath, she plunged right into the fray. "Has it ever occurred to you, Malfoy, that I just may not like you in that fashion?" It was a complete and total misdirection; as of course Hermione knew that she did in fact fancy him in that fashion, quite a lot. The key to dealing with Slytherin, however, was to never let them know what you were really thinking.

Draco smiled. She was just so _cute_ when she fought the inevitable. He played with the cuff of her sleeve. "Occurred, considered, and then dismissed."

She picked up his hand and put it back on his own knee before retreating back into her little corner of the sofa. "On what grounds?" It really wasn't fair how the firelight seemed to be kissing his face. She tried to force herself not to follow the play of light across his cheek.

She must not have been successful. "You wouldn't be looking at me like that, Hermione, if you weren't attracted to me." He leaned forward, barely an inch, but it seemed to Hermione like there was nothing left between them. It was just him and her and the air they breathed together. She looked up into his face, eyes locked with his, unblinking. Draco's voice was only a breath above a whisper. "Like now, when you can't tear your eyes away from mine. You're searching for that connection that will verify that I feel the same about you," his voice turned husky, "as you do about me."

This time his hand came down on hers, interlacing his fingers with hers. "I do, Hermione. I do. I feel that shock, and that warmth, and that same drive to make us happy together. My emotions are on the same ride as yours, and that rush is so delicious that I just want to stay close and savor it." He brought her hand up, raising it to his lips and holding it there. Like he was drinking in her warmth and added it to his, Hermione thought dazedly.

"Now why," he continued, "would I want to give that up?"

* * *

Harry didn't mean to do it. Really.

There he was, innocently following Hermione's directions, patrolling the halls for his errant friend. He wasn't looking for a fight. Really.

But when Harry had rounded another corner, lost in thought, just in time to see Alfred Blankenship thrust his face into Luna's, spewing forth vile words that would have made even Snape cringe-Harry saw red.

He didn't even remember doing it. For the first time, he felt that all consuming rage that had engulfed Rona and Draco, felt that rushing need to destroy a threat, to forever eliminate that one who dared get too close.

Alfred, in the space of a blink, was against the wall and staring down into the face of a very angry Boy Who Lived. He felt that burning tip of a wand pressed against his throat. Harry actually hissed in displeasure.

Alfred Blankenship was a bully. He was one of the most dangerous kind-those who preyed only on women, who viewed them as second-class citizens. He hid behind a perfect mask that only slipped in private. He knew how to hurt with words and threats. Luna had been his perfect partner for the Future Parents Program. The little wench wouldn't say boo to a goose. Fight back against him? Ha. Alfred had grown comfortable in his rages, giving voice to anything and everything that came to mind.

He'd grown too comfortable, he realized as Harry pressed his forearm into Alfred's neck.

"Harry." Luna's voice was calm. "Put Alfred down."

"With pleasure," Harry growled. He opened his mouth to utter the incantation that would do just that, put Alfred down like the dog he was. By the time he was through, Blankenship would never utter words like that to her, or any woman, ever again.

Luna reached up and physically turned Harry's face to hers. "No, Harry. He's not worth it. Let him go."

"He was-"

"Harry. You don't have to save the world anymore." As calm as ever, Luna's voice cut through the rage clouding Harry's mind. His grip loosened somewhat.

"Are you sure?"

Luna nodded. "Don't worry. He'll get what's coming to him."

Harry was still undecided. "Only this once. If he ever threatens you again-" he squeezed Alfred's throat, eliciting a squeak.

Luna smiled. "Fair enough."

Slowly, so that Alfred understood that it was against his better judgment, Harry released Blankenship and stepped back. He glared death into Blankenship's eyes. "Watch yourself," he warned. He turned around, ready to lead Luna away from the scene. A blur out of the corner of his eye alerted him, but he was too slow. Alfred, enraged, had lurched forward, ready to jump Harry and avenge his humiliation!

Luna's wand pressed on that sensitive spot beneath Alfred's chin, forcing it up. "I wouldn't do that, Alfred. It's not nice." She looked briefly at Harry. "Please take Hazel for a moment?"

Hesitantly, Harry complied.

"Now, Alfred, I think it's time you and I had a talk. I don't like you. I never did. You're just a bully. Someone who doesn't bother learning how to love when it's easier to just hate. You can say anything you want to me, because in the end I have it all and you still have nothing. Your words don't mean anything to me at all. But when you threaten Hazel or Harry, or anyone else I love, Alfred, I start to get a little," she jabbed upward without warning, lips tightening when Alfred choked in reaction, "_angry_."

Harry looked on in wonder while Luna continued to back Alfred physically into a corner. "Now there are a lot of ways this can end," she continued in her distinct voice. "I like to be creative, and I like surprises, so I won't tell you exactly what will happen if you ever do something like this again, Alfred. But if you play nice, there won't be any need, now will there?" With a last little poke, Luna withdrew her wand and calmly sheathed it. "See you around, Alfred. Shall we, Harry?" She smiled pleasantly when she took his arm and led the bemused boy down the hall, leaving Alfred visibly shaking in her wake.

* * *

Hermione was saved by a knock on the portrait. The sound was so out of place in their world of connecting floos and secret locations that it demanded immediate attention. "I'll get it!" Hermione rushed out, leaping off of the couch. She opened the portrait to find…"Michael?"

"Not you again," Malfoy growled form the interior. "How did you find-"

"No time," Michael interrupted. "Hermione, one of the Weasley brothers is here. The one that works at Gringotts? He was going over the items recovered from Voldemort's castle before they were to be locked away in that triple maximum vault."

Now he had her attention. "Michael," she asked slowly. "What's happened?"

"He found your parents, love. We have to get to Gringotts straight away!"

* * *

Even as she sobbed in utter happiness, nestled in the protective warmth of her parents' arms, Hermione wondered how she'd never seen it. Her only explanation was that even with all her intelligence, she just hadn't been able to fathom the twisted mind of the Dark Lord. Tom Riddle, in all his forms, had always relished conquest. He enjoyed keeping souvenirs, mementos of his victims. It stood to reason, with his increasing power, that Voldemort would grow more cruel and skip the souvenirs…and simply keep his victims.

The black throne in Tom Riddle's portrait had had a real counterpart. Hermione remembered seeing it once herself. Little had she known that the jewels studding it were actually the transfigured bodies of not only her parents, but almost a dozen other witches and wizards. They had been symbols of Tom Riddle's victories, trapped in limbo while he gloated.

Almost a dozen people emerged from Gringotts that day, blinking in confusion, surprised that, for many, several months had passed. News spread like wildfire, and once again there was a celebration in the Wizarding World for another victory against the Dark Lord. It didn't matter that the villain had been dead for months. What mattered was that he didn't triumph even in death, as evidenced by the joyful families being reunited for the Daily Prophet, and in many respects the world, to see.

The world declared a holiday, and while her parents were rushed to St. Mungo's for monitoring, Hermione received special permission to take a bit of leave from school. Feeling lighter than she'd had in what seemed like a lifetime, Hermione raced back to Hogwarts to get her things. She would stay at the school over night before preparing her parents' home in the morning, and then retrieve them from hospital. She was unaware that at that very moment, Dumbledore was looking into his fire with a very grave expression on his face.

"Narcissa, something has come to my attention that demands discussion."

Madam Malfoy arched a blonde brow. "Have I ever mentioned how much I detest your 'serious' face? It means less fun for me."

"I think it's time to end the Future Parents Program."

* * *

"What do you mean, the experiment is over?" Ron asked incredulously.

"The experiment can no longer continue, I'm afraid. In our eagerness to give you a realistic experience, we failed to take parental instincts into account."

"They've become like our real children," Hermione elaborated softly. She looked down at Ick. The little girl was sucking on her tiny thumb, eyes growing more hooded as sleep stole over her. Hermione cuddled her closer, taking comfort in the arm Draco wrapped around her waist.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. While we have hopes of continuing the program at a future date, with appropriate adjustments to be made, I'm sorry to say that this stage must come to an immediate halt."

"How soon?" Harry asked.

"Tonight. When midnight comes, the children will return to their original states."

Silence.

"You can't do that!" Everyone looked at Pansy, who had her jaw set determinedly and glared at the Headmaster. "I won't let you."

"I'm sorry, Miss Parkinson. There is nothing I can do." Dumbledore sighed. "It must be done."

Pansy stepped forward, fully intending to open her mouth and rail at Dumbledore viciously, when a voice made her grind to a standstill. "Don't, Pansy!"

She whipped around to face Ron, gaping. "What?"

Ron looked back at her, grim. "He's right." He took a breath. "Dumbledore is right."

Pansy shook her head in disbelief. "I don't understand. Don't you _want _them?" Her voice was rising in pitch.

"Of course I do, but Pansy…they aren't real. I love them, but Patrick and Henry were never meant to be with us permanently. They're-" He choked a little here, but got it quickly under control. "They're dolls. Just dolls." He hugged a twin closer to him even as he said it.

Pansy went white. Her mouth worked, but nothing came out. Without another word, she left the room, rushing past Ron without a backward glance, even when he called her name. He turned to follow her, but stopped when Dumbledore called his name. "Remember. The spells that you used to bring them to life will not work this time." Ron nodded once, looked at Harry and Hermione, and then left to go after Pansy.

Dumbledore regarded the remaining members of the group with a tinge of regret. "I suggest that we all retire for the night. Make the most of the time you have left."

* * *

"Pansy," Ron snarled, "Stop it!"

"You don't want them at all, I know it! You would be trying your damnedest to save them if you did. Is it the fact that they're a part of me, too? Is that it?"

Ron was getting angry, but trying to keep it under control. "You're scaring them, and I'm not going to let our last moments with them be spent fighting." He put Patrick and Henry in their cribs.

"I don't know how you managed it, but you must have found a way around the Veritiserum. There is no way, no way you could-"

Ron spun around, grabbed Pansy by the arms, and kissed her. It was a quick, hard, passionate kiss, and all Pansy could do was stand there when he pulled away. He shook her a little. "I know what this is about, alright? But I'm hurting too." He didn't bother to hide the anguish in his voice. "I'm hurting, too…"

All the fight left Pansy. Her shoulders drooped. "Oh, Ronald." Standing on tiptoe, she clasped her hands behind his neck and offered all the comfort she could.

Multiple sets of eyes watched the time passing that night. No one spoke, but tried to go about normal activities like bath time and dressing for bed. Cribside vigils began the moment the babies went to bed, which they did with uncharacteristic ease.

**_11:56 pm _**

Sitting on either side of the crib, Draco and Hermione stared at Ick, dressed in her tiny pajamas. They felt each slow breath she took with their hands, which lay over her little belly.

**_11:57 pm _**

Pansy and Ron sat on their sofa. The twins lay in their arms, pressed between them as they hugged one another. They heard the ticking of the clock clearly in the silence, barely daring to breath.

**_11:58 pm _**

Harry, Luna, and Hazel were outside in the little courtyard. It was where Hazel liked to be the most, Luna had said. They sat on the grass, ignoring the damp, Hazel blissfully asleep in the baby carrier between them. Luna hummed a lullaby softly, rocking the carrier.

**_11:59 pm _**

Hermione began to shake. Draco captured her hand and held it tightly over Ick's sleeping form, never losing contact. Tears burned his eyes, but he refused to blink.

Pansy and Ron held each other as close as two humans could get, heads pressed together, watching.

Waiting.

Luna reached the end of her lullaby.

**_Midnight _**

It happened softly. Little lights, like pixies, formed over the babies' heads and slowly drifted down. They spread out over the skin, and in bare moments faded away.

Leaving only a doll behind.

Hermione covered her eyes with a hand, cheeks wet. Draco put his head in his arm, letting his own tears fall. They never let each other go.

Ron hugged his family close.

Harry gathered Luna up, who calmly lay her head on his chest and watched the baby carrier rock itself a few more times before coming to a standstill.

* * *

Hermione stood, one foot in, one foot out of the carriage. Because her family's fireplace wasn't properly connected, she'd prepared to take the train home. Everything was read to go…Except for her.

This morning she couldn't wait to get away from Hogwarts and the pain of missing Ick. She'd wanted nothing more than to get into this carriage and ride away from it all. But now that the moment had come, she could not make her body fully enter the vehicle. It felt too much like running away.

So she stood there, frozen in thought. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more at work here than she wanted to admit.

Intellectually, she knew Dumbledore had made the right decision. Love Ick as she did, Hermione realized that she wasn't ready to be a mother. She would not have done Ick justice. The fact that Ick had never truly been meant to be more than temporary, was a blessing, in a way. She would always, always miss Ick. Hermione would always be grateful to the little girl that never lived, for showing her just what Hermione had been hiding from. So why, knowing all of that, was she still overcome with the urge to run as fast as she could?

To stay meant facing Draco without Ick as a link between them. She would be taking a chance that without Ick, whatever was between them would disappear. Hermione was afraid-

Realization dawned.

* * *

"Hermione," he said in his deep voice. The smile that crossed his face when he said her name was small, but held such pleasure in it. Like he was genuinely happy to just see her. Her heart skipped a beat unexpectedly. He descended another step, and of their own volition, Hermione's feet moved to match his, ascending a step. Had his eyes always been that color? Somehow she'd known it, had stored the information away in her brain, but never before had she appreciated just how multifaceted those orbs were. Had they always made her feel this warm?

Another step from both. He was saying something Hermione couldn't hear over the quickening of her pulse. It may have been something important. She didn't know, couldn't make herself pay attention. She felt spellbound, captured by some quality in his face that she'd never noticed before, but she was sure had always been there. Another step. They were getting closer. She watched in fascination as a furrow formed in his brow, at what she sure was a dumbstruck expression on her face.

Hermione knew he must be wondering what had come over her. She didn't quite know herself. There was nothing out of ordinary in the moment. All he had done was walk down the stairs as he had down a thousand times before. It wasn't the first time that she had been at the foot, watching his approach. Sometimes she had felt anger, others dread, and still other times she had regarded him with a mild sort of annoyance, usually attributed to a gnat buzzing around one's head. Never, never had there been this peculiar thumping of the heart, rushing of the blood, or fogging of the mind that prevented any real, rational thought from freely flowing.

Draco had stopped on his step, meaning only three or four separated them now. "Hermione?"

Like a magnet, he drew her. A feeling rising inside, making her heart swell, her lungs constrict. "Do you love me?" she asked breathlessly. Tingling in her arms, fingers clenching in reaction.

It was Draco's turn to look dumbstruck. "What?"

"Do you love me?" she repeated. "Please. I need to know, Draco." It sounded dramatic, but in that moment Hermione felt like her entire future depended on his answer.

He, Draco Malfoy, cocked his head at her quizzically. "Of course I love you, Hermione. I've been trying to tell you that for ages. You just never heard me."

Something that tasted suspiciously like laughter, like joyful giddiness, rushed up her throat. One more step, and suddenly the rubbery feeling in her legs disappeared. The next step she took was quicker; the one after that even more so, and on the third Hermione let the onslaught of emotion take control. She launched herself up in that last second, throwing her arms around his neck, when he caught her with a surprised exclamation. He fell on his bum. "Hermi-!"

Her lips connected with his.

Right there, in front of everyone in Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that just happened to be making their way to the morning meal, Hermione Jane Granger kissed the daylights out of Draco Black Malfoy. The blond young man, while visibly shocked, had the presence of mind not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and so he let Hermione Granger have her way with him.

She drew back abruptly. After a minute, Draco realized that his eyes were still closed. Slowly, he opened them, looking up into Hermione's grinning face. Had that really just happened? He bit his bottom lip, testing it. It felt like she'd just kissed him, but why…? "Draco Black Malfoy," she suddenly said, her voice loud enough to carry over the crowd below, as silent as they were, "I'm in love with you. I don't know how, and I don't know when, and there are going to be times when I wonder why, but I'm in love with you. You got that, girls?" she called over the railing to the crowd below. "Draco Malfoy's taken!"

Stunned silence. Then someone whistled from the back of the mass. It broke the baffled moment, and people started laughing and cheering all at once. Draco looked at the crowd, then back to Hermione. "What changed your mind?"

"Nothing's changed, Draco," Hermione replied softly. "I just realized a few things. It doesn't matter if I'm afraid or not. My feelings for you were always going to be there. Letting you slip through my fingers would have been not only painful, but pointless." She reached down and dragged him up, smiling into his face. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking," Draco murmured, "that I want another kiss, just to make sure the first wasn't a fluke."

"Snape is going to have a heart attack when he sees us." But she didn't resist when he wrapped his arms around her. In fact she pressed him closer with hands on his back. They stood toe to toe, on the same step, lost in their own little world.

"Don't worry. I'll pull some strings." His head bent, and once again lips met.

* * *

In the months that had followed, the Future Parents Program went through three more control groups, each refining the program to the condition it was being celebrated in these five years later. Hermione and Draco, as happy as they had been together, even with the inevitable spats that occurred, had looked on anxiously. Ick, however, had never reappeared. They had supposed that it had only been due to their unique combination of genes that the little girl had come to be. The chances of her reappearing, or perhaps even being born at all to them, had been monumentally small. They had resigned themselves to the fact eventually. Draco felt that their relationship had gotten stronger for the tragedy, rather than weaker.

Indeed, most of the original Future Parents Program couples (which sort of included Potter) were still together five years later. Draco had begun proposing to Hermione midway in their final term at Hogwarts. She had always avoided the issue until the day they had graduated. Draco had been utterly surprised by the gigantic banner unfurling minutes after the ceremony had ended reading, "Marry me, Draco!" Grinning like a loon and ignoring the catcalls, Draco had happily accepted.

Luna and Harry had married the moment they had graduated. In fact, all of the couples had had to run straight from one ceremony to another, barely having time to catch a breath. Draco had considered it the ultimate tragedy to find that Potter, that poor sod who wanted a family so desperately that it literally showed, had been diagnosed as sterile. Luna, always the calm one, had blithely informed Harry that he had nothing to fret over, their children would be arriving any day now.

There had been a tense moment there where everyone thought that Luna had finally gone round the bend. She'd sighed, gotten up to go to her desk, and returned with a proposal that had changed their lives. An adoption program for war orphans. With Draco's money, Hermione's intelligence, Ron's enthusiasm, Pansy's cunning, and Harry's notoriety, the program was sure to take off.

And it did. Luna and Harry were now the proud parents of no less than four children, with another arriving soon.

Ron and Pansy had married later that same year, only waiting because both families had demanded it. No one had been entirely convinced the relationship would last, but when Pansy turned up…_ahem_…in a delicate condition, well, Draco had never seen a wedding be put together that fast.

If it had been up to Hermione, Draco would have had to wait until they were 20 to get married. Something about the statistics of teenage marriage. Not buying that for a moment, Draco had worked on the girl until she'd finally given in and they had married on the one-year anniversary of the Future Parents Program. Draco considered it a matter of pride that on _their _one-year anniversary of marriage, Hermione had gotten pregnant.

They'd known that it couldn't be Ick. They hadn't dared to hope. In fact, they hadn't wanted to know anything about the baby at all, feeling that any baby they had would be precious regardless. So when Hermione gave birth to a beautiful baby boy named Thackery, they'd been overjoyed…and surprised as hell when fifteen minutes later, Vivica May Malfoy had made her screaming entrance into the world.

Words could not describe that moment….but Draco still had a bruise from Hermione from innocently referring to his children (affectionately, mind you) as Ick and Ack.

The Great Hall doors flew open once more. Draco grinned. Speaking of….

Thackery Malfoy met the hundreds of stares directed at him with a little smile, hitching up the gigantic book (which was just full of pictures, but he liked to make up stories about them) underneath his arm. "Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"Thackery!" Ick called out. "Come meet the dragon Daddy told us about!"

Draco could feel the burn of his wife's glare all the way across the hall. He cleared his throat. Oh, he was going to pay for that one later.

Hermione Malfoy picked up her tawny haired son and made her way down the aisle. Draco was suddenly taken back to their wedding day, and the utter awe he'd felt that finally, _finally_, Hermione Granger was his. He smiled that familiar warm smile at her, the one that hit her right in the heart. The one she could never help smiling back at.

"Hello, love," he greeted softly.

"Hello, Draco," she murmured back.

There, right in front of the entire student body of Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Draco Malfoy kissed his wife.

The End

**Author's Note: **

**Dear Readers, **

**Thank you, so very much, for reading my story. I have put so much into this fic for so long, and many of you have been there with me for almost a year as I did it. I truly, utterly appreciate all the kind words, reviews, and encouragements I have received over these past eleven months. I can't express my feelings as this story comes to an end. I have laughed, cried, and grown with Future Parents Program. I'm sad and yet overjoyed that I can finally present it to you, the readers, as a complete work. Thank you so much again, readers, and members of the Three Keys Discussion Group. The story would be nothing without you. **

**All my love, -Avari20**

**P.S. If you choose to review this and were directed here by a link on an awards site, I would dearly love it if you included the name of the Awards site in your review. Very rarely am I notified that the story is entered, much less if it won or not. Thanks so much!**


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